


The Strength of an Army

by Mendeia



Series: Fate Is A Gift [19]
Category: Mighty Max
Genre: Adventure, Complicated Team Dynamics, Evil Spirits Doing Evil Things To Probably Good People, Gen, angst and friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:20:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16250939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mendeia/pseuds/Mendeia
Summary: "The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other." -- Mario PuzoMax, Virgil, and Norman encounter a warrior with a strange gift who has arisen to take Norman's place at Max's side. Only Max can decide who the true Guardian must be, and his choice may have far-reaching consequences. But this new Guardian is hiding a malicious secret and will do anything, even murder, to claim the Mighty One as his own to protect.





	1. Lone Survivor

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I'm officially a month late in getting this up. So sorry! It's been an unpleasant month.
> 
> Here is the next story in the "Fate Is A Gift" series, one which introduces a new wrinkle – because obviously making Max's life harder is what it's all about. Right?
> 
> The title for the story is taken from this quote by Mario Puzo: "The strength of a family, like the strength of an army, is in its loyalty to each other." Additionally, the chapter names throughout the story are taken from one of my current favorite songs, and one I think definitely describes our heroes particularly well: "Feel Invincible" by Skillet.
> 
> I've left this long enough that I'm out of notes, so here's the first four chapters you should have had for the past four weeks all at once. Sorry again!
> 
> Enjoy!

He woke at dawn and rolled out of his sleeping bag, folding it up with meticulous familiarity. He didn't bother to reignite his campfire, instead opting to munch on his leftovers from the night before while he walked.

Today was going to be the day.

Today he was going to make the pain stop – forever.

Today it would finally be _right_.

-==OOO==-

When Max padded down to breakfast in his socks particularly early for a lazy summer Saturday, he would not have been at all surprised to find out that he was not getting a day off, though he could not have said why. It was just a feeling, a gut instinct.

But he still came downstairs in his socks because some things are sacred, even to Cap-Bearers. Especially lazy sock mornings.

Max also noted that Virgil waited until Max's mom had finished her second cup of coffee before he sprang the 'the time has come once again for the Mighty One to defend the safety of the world' spiel on her. He had learned, the hard way, not to test her patience when she was under-caffeinated.

A year before, even a few months before, such a proclamation would have been met with dismay on Max's side and scolding worry from his mom's.

But that was before Toyama. Before everything had changed. Before Max had changed.

Now he lived with his Guardian and his Teacher full-time, and now none of them tried to dissuade the game Destiny seemed determined to play with Max's life. Virgil and Norman were less keen than they had been previously to see their Cap-Bearer put at risk, it was true; Max, however, made up for their lack of enthusiasm with his own deepening determination to be the hero he had to be.

"I'll pack a lunch," was all Max's mom said. She was even less eager to let her son walk into danger, but she could not prevent him. The world needed him – however much she hated that it did.

"Where are we going?" Max wanted to know.

"Arevik National Park in the southeastern part of Armenia." Virgil took a sip from his own mug of tea. "According to my calculations, a band of mercenaries has stumbled upon an item of great power which they cannot be allowed to control."

"Are we talking Super Secret Soviet Tank or are we talking Magic Necklace of Somebody I've Never Heard Of here?"

Norman snorted. Then he stole a piece of Max's bacon.

"Hey!"

"Your reflexes are slow this morning, Mighty One." He gave a great, smug grin and happily munched the pilfered strip that was still nice and warm and just crispy enough to be perfect.

Max glared at him. "Yeah? Well, we'll see who has slow reflexes when the going gets, uh, going!"

Max's mom sighed. "Eat your eggs, dear. They're brain food and you could probably use some."

Max stuck his tongue out at her but dug into his food anyway, crowding one arm around his plate and watching Norman out of the corner of his eye to prevent any further pilfering of his breakfast.

Virgil waited until Max and Norman were both absorbed in eating before he continued.

"In this case, the situation is more the latter than the former. Though the one may lead to the other."

Max blinked at him, tried to parse Virgil's words, then gave up and shrugged. "Whatever you say. When are we leaving?"

"As soon as possible. Armenia is approximately eleven hours ahead of us already and I would rather arrive before dark if possible. We will have some walking to do in order to catch up with the band of thieves so close to imperiling the entire world."

Max nudged Norman with an elbow. "Not with us around, right big guy?"

Norman grinned. "I eat thieves for breakfast."

"Then you don't need this!" And Max promptly stole one of Norman's remaining strips of bacon and ate it with a grin.

Norman gave him an approving smile and a nod. "Well done, Mighty One."

-==OOO==-

A few minutes of stocking a backpack with supplies and globe-hopping from portal to portal later, Max, Norman, and Virgil popped out into a lush, thick forest where afternoon was just beginning to turn to evening.

As soon as Max's feet hit the ground, he shivered hard enough for the canteen hanging off his backpack to rattle.

" _Eeyeaah_."

"Are you all right, Mighty One?" Virgil reached up to touch the boy's arm, surprised at the chilliness of his skin in spite of the warm summer sun heating the forest even in the shade.

"Yeah." But he looked around with his shoulders up protectively. "Just a _really_ weird feeling."

Norman closed the distance between them as if he could remove Max's discomfort with his proximity. He didn't say anything, but Norman knew Max understood his intent to protect him all the same.

Virgil gave Max a few moments to orient himself before he cleared his throat. "Then may I suggest we attempt to find the mercenaries who are our reason for being here?"

"Sure." Max made himself smile more normally. "Where to?"

"I believe we will locate them approximately four miles in that direction." Virgil pointed.

Max set off with Virgil beside him and Norman following, and while there was an extra tremor of tension that ran through all three, they let it pass unremarked upon.

Max forced himself to breathe calmly. _If it's bad, we're here to handle that. If it's nothing, that's okay. And if it's really bad, we can only find out about it and take it down when it happens._

_I've felt worse. I'm sure I'll feel worse again._

_And none of it matters._

_We've got a job to do here. No matter how bad it gets._

He glanced to Virgil, then backwards at Norman.

_And I'm not alone. I can do this. We can do this. No matter what._

A couple of miles later, he let out a breath and felt more like himself.

"So. You gonna tell me what magical thingy is endangering the world this time? Scepter of Doom? Magic Cape of Handsomeness?"

Virgil gave him a sideways look. "I fail to see how anything like _that_ could portend catastrophe in the world."

"Clearly you don't know the power of a hunky lead in a female-oriented fandom."

Virgil actually stopped. "I'm sorry – what?"

Max laughed. "Never mind." He leaned back to Norman. "Remind me to add certain vampire books to Virg's reading list."

Norman gave him a thumbs-up.

"Anyway." Virgil resumed walking, trying not to smile. "There are several possibilities, but only one truly likelihood. I would rather not speculate until I have proof, however."

"Since when?" Max asked. "You _love_ to speculate. We usually can't stop you."

"He's got a point," Norman put in.

Virgil huffed and his feathers rose and fell like a dog's hackles. "Oh, very well. It is my supposition that the individuals we seek have discovered and claimed a feather of the Firebird."

Max raised an eyebrow. "I assume you don't mean the muscle car."

Virgil sighed. "Of course not."

"So...literal firebird? Like a phoenix?"

"Similar, but not identical." Virgil took up a lecturing cadence in time with his steps. "There are many phoenix-like creatures scattered throughout the world's mythology, but in this case we are dealing with the Slavic version. It is a staple of the fairy tales from this part of the world north to the Arctic Circle, anywhere Slavic languages spread. Its origin is an object of some debate, but most tales agree that the Firebird is a magical creature whose feathers contain great power – often a power which brings ruin upon those who meddle with them."

"Hmm." Max considered, then said, "I think more magical objects should come with warnings. Like, can we go around and label everything ' _Do Not Touch Or Risk World-Ending Disaster and Maybe Hair Loss_ ' or something? I bet we'd solve a bunch of problems all at once."

"Nobody likes hair loss," Norman said.

"I believe a warning like that would – " But Virgil tripped and fell with a squawk.

Max reached down to help him up. "Watch your step, Virg. You okay?"

"Ahem. Yes. I'm fine." But he paused and looked down at his feet. "However." He held up a length of thin wire, the source of his fall. "I believe it is possible someone may know we are here already."

"Oh, great job, Virgil." Max rolled his eyes. "Way to find the only tripwire in a thousand square miles of wilderness!"

"I assure you, it was not my intention."

"Anyway. If they know we're here, we better go be somewhere else." Max glanced to Norman who gave him a nod and the three took off at a run.

They did not stop until they had put a little more than a half-mile between themselves and the tripwire. While Max and Virgil worked on catching their breaths, Norman drew his sword and stood guard, senses alert to any possible danger. They were close to their adversaries now, and the Guardian was ready for anything.

Max glanced around, his eyes falling on a particularly tall tree nearby. "Hey. Gimme a boost, Normie."

Norman did not even put his sword away – he simply held out one enormous palm for Max to step onto and lifted him one-handed into the nearest sturdy branches. From there, Max squirreled up the tree with ease.

"Norman."

Norman looked down at Virgil.

"Be very careful."

"Something wrong?"

Virgil paused for a moment, eyes troubled. "I believe...I am now having a similar feeling to the Mighty One's upon arrival."

Norman frowned. "Magic?"

He knew, from thousands of years of experience, that Virgil was not the most intuitive of beings; a demigod could stroll right past the end of the Lemurian's beak and he might never notice it was there, especially when reading. But sometimes Virgil got feelings, could sense sorcery or, every now and again, ill will.

Virgil might only get a sense of foreboding one danger out of ten, but Norman had learned that he was never wrong about that one.

"Not exactly." Virgil hesitated again, looking up into the tree where the Mighty One was just settling into position to peer over the area. "Just...do not let down your guard, Norman. For anything."

"I won't."

"Hey guys!"

Norman and Virgil both looked up. Max was perched at the top of the tree with one arm wrapped around its trunk for balance, but the other cupped his mouth so he didn't have to shout too loudly.

"I see the camp that way!" He pointed. Then his attention shifted and his entire body went taut.

"Mighty One?" Norman called.

"And, uh, I think somebody's heading our way!"

Norman's head swung in the direction Max was looking, becoming aware of the sound of someone moving through the forest towards them.

Virgil moved out of Norman's way and turned back to the boy above. "Jump, Mighty One!"

Max was already descending at speed, half-climbing and half-falling from branch to branch as he made his way down. He ignored Virgil and kept his attention on not losing his grip on the tree. He knew he could jump and Norman would catch him, he knew that as surely as he knew anything about his Guardian, but he didn't want to distract Norman who was bracing for battle.

Just as Max was making his final sliding leap to the ground, a figure emerged from the trees.

He was tall, rivaling Norman for height which very, very few people did. His hair was a neutrally sandy color cropped close to his head in a military-looking cut. He wore sturdy slacks patterned with forest-appropriate camouflage and a plain t-shirt under a vest with a matching camouflage pattern and many bulging pockets.

Norman squared off with him and held his sword out, waiting.

Max hit the ground, steadied somewhat with Virgil's help, and turned to the newcomer. "Huh! It's like G.I. Joe, but a European knockoff. Armenian Joe?"

To Max's surprise, the stranger smiled. "Not quite. But a good guess."

Virgil lifted his head. "What is your business here?"

"I have been following my former comrades through this forest in an attempt to learn what they have acquired. I do not trust the man who leads what used to be my unit." His voice was low and smooth, and he spoke English with a slight accent.

Max raised his eyebrows and took a few steps forward until he was beside Norman. "Why did you leave them in the first place?"

The man gave Norman a long look before he answered Max directly. "Our former commander was an honorable man. When he retired, the one who replaced him made some changes which I feared would lead down a dark path. I chose to resign, but have stayed close to observe."

"So you were a mercenary too?"

The man's smile shifted, darkened. "Is that what you think of us? Perhaps it is so. We were men for hire, yes, but our former commander only gave our services to those in need. Villages plagued by rogue groups, roads seized by terrorists, doctors trying to reach refugees or war camps. What my comrades have become is not who we were."

"And who was that?" Virgil asked.

He shrugged. "Men with but one skill, nothing to lose, and no country worth fighting for."

Max shared a glance with Norman and then waved him off. He held out a hand and covered some of the distance between them. "Well, maybe you can help us keep your friends from making a huge mistake."

"It would be my honor. Tell me how I may be of assistance." The man met Max in the middle and shook his hand.

Virgil and Norman stepped up beside their boy.

"This is the Mighty One," Virgil said, "and we are his protectors. I am Virgil and this is Norman."

The man peered at Max. "Mighty One?"

"You can call me Max."

But he shook his head. "There is an old story from my village of a Mighty One who is a great hero, a defender of all against evil. If you are such, I am even more honored to share in your quest."

Max flushed slightly. "That's me, but I'm probably not what you had in mind from the stories. I'll take any help I can get stopping your friends."

"What must we prevent my comrades from doing in their foolishness?"

"Your former unit has acquired an item of great power," Virgil said, watching him closely. "Perhaps you have seen it. I believe it would have the appearance of a very large, luminescent feather."

The man's eyes widened. "Yes. I have seen this while I watched from a distance."

"It's from the Firebird. Not the car – a real Firebird," Max said. "And it's sort of a big battery. Like, nuclear-power-plant-level big."

"Then we can waste no time. If we can retrieve this feather, I will attempt to speak to my people. Perhaps I can help them see the danger of their ways."

Max nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me."

Norman cleared his throat. "You didn't give us your name."

The man met Norman's gaze and held it. "You are correct. I apologize for my rudeness. I am Branislav Kovac." He flashed a smirk at Max. "Call me Bran."

"Hmm." Virgil considered the man. "Branislav: Slavic for 'warrior.' An appropriate name for a...mercenary."

" _Not_ a mercenary, merely a warrior of fortune," Bran said, shaking his head. "But it seems to me that a warrior is what we need now, no?"

Norman bristled.

Max patted his Guardian's arm. "Easy, big guy." He turned to Bran. "I think we've pretty much got the 'warrior' thing covered, but we can always use more help when saving the world from nuclear disaster. Right?"

Norman dipped his head slightly in agreement.

"I think it very unlikely this will involve any form of nuclear armament," Virgil said. "Such weaponry does not require the power of the feather to fuel it. Rather, I would suggest some sort of enlarged particle or beam weapon, perhaps mounted on a satellite for maximum damage."

Max blanched. "Do _not_ go giving your ideas to the bad guys, okay Virg?"

Bran nodded. "The world is dangerous enough without putting weapons in orbit. Let us hope our enemies have not found a buyer with the same thought as yourself."

"I did not say I thought it would be _prudent_ , simply effective." Virgil cleared his throat. "Now, we must find these men and retrieve the feather before they can use or sell it. By my calculations, they will prepare to transport it from this location before sundown."

"You are not wrong," Bran said. "They have a contact in the next village who will summon a helicopter."

"Then we gotta get that feather back first." Max tipped his head at Bran, considering. "And I'm starting to get an idea about how we're gonna do it."

-==OOO==-

"Aw, come on! You gotta blend in with the rest of us!"

Norman met the Mighty One's gaze and resolutely shook his head. "I'm not taking off my armor."

Virgil huffed, drowning in one of Bran's spare shirts which he wore more like a gown. "I entirely sympathize with you, Norman."

Max frowned at both of them.

"Perhaps." Bran rose with a pile of clothing which he handed to Max. "If I can find another vest, you can wear it over your attire. Would that suffice?"

Norman inclined his head and Bran backed away to return to his tent again to sort through his things.

Max rolled his eyes. "You sure picked a weird time to be all silent and stuff, Normie." He turned to get himself behind a few trees so he could change into the smallest clothing Bran could offer.

Norman felt a lump come into his throat. "Mighty One."

Max paused and looked back over his shoulder. He could see the fight in Norman's eyes between guilt at not going along with the plan and whatever stubbornness had set in. Max shook his head and gave a tiny smile.

"It's fine, big guy."

Norman relaxed fractionally and let his boy go to change.

"It is rather strange, though, for you to disobey the Cap-Bearer." Virgil was very carefully not looking at him. "Is something wrong?"

"I thought you told me not to let down my guard," Norman said.

Virgil blinked at him. "Yes?"

"Then why are _you_ trusting him?"

"Him? Surely you don't mean…"

" _Bran_." Norman spat the word like it was bitter and vile on his tongue.

"Ah, yes. I never said I trusted him."

Norman glared. "You're wearing his shirt. He's part of the plan. And you haven't said one word about it."

Virgil ruffled his feathers and shrugged. "It isn't that."

"Then what is it?"

Virgil looked away. "Ask me later, Norman."

Norman growled. "I'm asking you _now_."

Virgil continued to remain silent. Norman loomed over him and might have done more except that Max returned, baggy pants tucked into his sneakers and shirt-sleeves rolled up. The white of his t-shirt poked above the buttons of the camouflage shirt from Bran, and he looked rather more like a boy playing dress-up in a grown man's uniform than anything else, but he was certainly less obviously an outsider.

"Just call me G.I. Max, I guess." He glanced between them. "Everything okay?"

"Yes, Mighty One," Virgil said quickly. "Everything's fine."

A moment later, Bran emerged. "I can find nothing to suit Norman, but we may be able to acquire a jacket when we enter the camp."

Max grinned at him. "Cool! Let's go!"

Bran put a hand on Max's shoulder and returned the smile.

Norman bristled. Max's pack, easily strapped to his own, rattled slightly.

Bran ignored him. "If you will follow me, I will lead you into the camp where it is most poorly watched. Stay close to me, Mighty One."

Max fell into line behind Bran, with Virgil and Norman bringing up the rear. The journey through the forest passed quietly, except for Virgil who managed to get his borrowed shirt caught on seemingly every branch and thorn.

The first dozen times the Lemurian paused and had to be released from a snag or sniffed in annoyance at being caught up in a bush, Max or Norman simply helped him get loose and Bran waited. But as they drew nearer to the perimeter, Bran began glowering at Virgil with every delay.

Finally Bran pinned Virgil with a glare. "Perhaps you should remain behind. You are not very agile, and agility will be necessary to steal the feather."

Virgil gave a _hmph_. "I assure you, I can move as quietly and quickly as necessary. It is this disguise which causes me difficulty."

"It is a fool who blames his wardrobe for his own failings," Bran said.

Max crossed his arms. "Hey! Virg might not be the most woodcrafty guy I know, but he's not a fool."

Bran ducked his head. "I apologize, Mighty One. Forgive me."

"Sure. No problem. Let's just focus on getting that feather back."

Norman shot Virgil an irritated look. The Lemurian could only shrug.

-==OOO==-

Initially, the infiltration went very smoothly. Bran led the three of them through a quiet spot away from the main camp and guided them between tents and temporary buildings and vehicles, avoiding most people. It was just growing dark as the sunset arrived in the late evening, providing them with additional cover.

By the time the camp was alerted to their presence and scrambled to attack, Max was already crawling under a tent-flap into the place where the feather was being kept.

Virgil shucked his borrowed shirt and joined the boy as Bran and Norman began taking on the entire troop of soldiers outside.

"We must move quickly, Mighty One."

"Yeah, I got that," Max shot back, trying not to listen to the yells of his Guardian and of Bran while they defended the tent from all comers. "Help me find it. They didn't just leave it out on a table, apparently."

Virgil and Max ransacked the tent with much opening and tossing of containers, taking care when they came upon stores of ammunition. But finally Max's hand alighted on a metal case about the size of a shoebox and he could tell he had the feather in his grasp.

He opened it just to be sure, though. Only idiots like Skullmaster would just run off and _assume_ they had the Object of Great Power when they really had an empty box.

The feather winked back at him with all the colors of a fiery dawn shimmering along the delicate barbs. It looked as insubstantial as water, or reflected firelight, but it was warm to the touch, almost humming. Max closed the box and pulled it to his chest, removing his own disguise which fit in a baggy way – and with running in his immediate future, he didn't want a repeat of Virgil getting stuck in the forest.

"Okay. Let's go!"

Suddenly there was a cry and a grunt and a pair of soldiers armed with guns stormed into the tent.

"Stop them!"

Max dove to the side, Virgil in his wake, as they opened fire. "Norman!"

Norman let out a cry from outside. Then the tent shuddered. A moment later, the entire canvas cover of the tent was ripped away by one irate Guardian, who promptly balled it up and threw it at the pair shooting towards Max, catching them in its folds.

"We got it," Max called, scrambling to his feet and running to Norman's side. "Let's make tracks, big guy!"

"Look out!"

Bran came flying in from the side, catching Max in his big arms and pulling them both sideways. Norman roared, then spotted the incoming grenade. He still roared, but with a different anger as he grabbed up Virgil and dove after Bran. They took cover behind a vehicle as the ground exploded.

"We've still got a lot of friends inbound," Max reported from where he leaned around Bran's shoulder. "Think we can slow them down?"

"Leave it to me," Bran said. "Return to where we met. I will find you there." He pressed a hand against Max's shoulder before launching himself into the fray once more.

Max could hear him yelling in Armenian, "Stop, comrades! You must stop!"

"Come on." Max tugged on Virgil's arm and hauled him to his feet. "We've got to trust him. It doesn't sound like they want to hurt him."

And they raced into the woods, leaving Bran to guard their retreat.

As they jogged back to the clearing with the tall tree Max had climbed so recently, Max kept glancing over his shoulder.

"Do not fear, Mighty One," Virgil said. "He will endure."

"How do you know?" Max asked. He felt the same way, though he couldn't have said why.

"You must trust me on this."

"Fine."

When they reached the clearing, Norman removed the packs he had carried and set himself to listening. Max started to climb the tree again, only for Virgil to put out a hand.

"I would feel better if you were not several stories in the air if Bran's former allies were to find us."

"I thought you said he'd be okay?"

Virgil simply raised an eyebrow.

Max sighed, but he nodded and leaned against the tree to wait.

It was almost twenty minutes later that Bran entered the clearing. "All is well." He raised his hands at Norman's defensive posture. "I was able to convince my comrades that their desire for the item was foolish. They have yet to accept me into their ranks as before, but they are at least considering their path once more, which is all I wished."

Max smiled. "I'm glad. I guess that makes this one a wrap." He turned to Virgil, still holding the box with the feather of the Firebird. "What do we do with this?"

"I believe we should deliver it somewhere secure," Virgil said vaguely. "I would not wish it to fall into other hands." He glanced up at the sky and the waning twilight. "However, it is too late for us to reach the nearest portal from here before night is upon us," he said.

"Looks like we're camping out!" Max grinned at Norman. "But it's your turn to fish."

Norman nudged him but nodded. "As you wish, Mighty One."

"If I may," Bran said. He looked at Max, but his body was arrayed to face Norman. "As I am somewhat far from my own camp, would you mind if I passed the evening in your company as well?"

Max hesitated. He had the urge to shiver again, but there was something in Bran's eyes that made him shrug and say, "It's fine with me."

"Thank you. Allow me to contribute by acquiring sufficient firewood." And without another word, Bran turned to begin gathering deadfall from the nearby woods.

"Mighty One," Norman began, "I'm not sure…"

"Norman." Virgil's voice was low and oddly cold. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Max asked.

Virgil put a hand on Max's shoulder. "I am grateful you allowed him to stay. I wish to speak to Bran in private."

"Oh,sure." Max looked between his friends. "Isn't it okay, Normie?"

Norman shrugged and said nothing.

"Great," Max muttered to himself as he bent to retrieve his pack from where it had been let fall. "This isn't going to be awkward or anything."


	2. Made of Fire

Max dropped the last sandwich wrapper into the small fire. "Well, that was fun."

He was met with three different silences. Norman's was stony and utterly focused on Bran. Bran seemed slightly apologetic, but his sincerity was undercut every time he started trading glares with Norman. Virgil had yet to meet Max's eyes.

Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that nobody had been willing to go fishing. Which is to say that _Max_ was perfectly willing, but neither Norman nor Bran were willing to let him out of their sight for that long, apparently, and Max could have powered his phone off the lightning anger that sparked between them.

And Virgil, who apparently had some talking to do with Bran, had demurred, claiming a desire to think first.

Which was how Max ended up eating his packed lunch for dinner and having to yell at Norman to share some of his ample extra rations with Bran who had nothing.

Virgil looked across at Max and drew in a deep breath. "I believe I have procrastinated long enough. Bran, please join me." He held up a hand to Max. "We will require some privacy, Mighty One. Please do not follow us."

Max shrugged. "Whatever works." _Whatever clears the air so things start making sense again is more like it._

Norman grunted.

Virgil rose and strode off into the darkness, Bran following.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Max let out an explosive breath. "Man, between the two of you, I'm surprised the trees are still standing. The hostility could squash this whole forest."

Norman actually looked chagrined. "I'm sorry, Mighty One."

Max considered his friend. "Can you tell me what's going on? Why are you like a hissing cat around that guy?"

"Honestly, I don't know. It's just...a feeling."

Norman could have shared Virgil's warning, or reminded Max about the chill he had experienced at the start of this adventure, but he chose not to do so. It wasn't that he wanted to hide anything from the Cap-Bearer; more, the uneasiness he felt in the presence of Bran was off-putting enough that Norman could no longer really distinguish any legitimate, instinctive sense of danger from his increasing irritation. And he knew it wouldn't be fair to make the Mighty One suspicious for no good reason.

"A pretty bad one, I guess," Max said.

"Yeah."

"And it's been getting worse all day."

"Yeah."

Max had been sitting on a log Norman dragged close to the fire as a seat, but he rose to face his Guardian. Norman's body language was screaming a warning Max didn't know how to read – which was a true oddity. Norman had _always_ been an open book to him.

"Do you think he's dangerous?"

Norman had to bite his tongue not to agree wholeheartedly. "I don't know." Norman looked at his boy. "What do _you_ think?"

Max shrugged. "I dunno. He doesn't seem that different from anybody else we've ever met." He paused. "But…"

Norman nodded. "Yeah. That. _But_."

Max thought for a moment. "Look. When he and Virg come back, give me a minute with him. Please?"

" _Why_?"

Max was surprised at the vitriol in the question. Norman might have reacted more calmly to Max asking for permission to sneak back down to Skull Mountain and do a hula dance for Skullmaster.

It only strengthened his certainty that he had to get to the bottom of whatever this was.

"I need to get a read on him. And I can't do that with you huffing like the wolf trying to blow down his house." Max managed a smile. "I won't go far. And I know you'll be there to back me up if, I dunno, he turns out to be some kind of alien overlord in disguise."

Norman snorted. He decided not to admit that he was hoping for something like that – that, in fact, he was looking for a reason to start a fight. Norman couldn't have said why, but with every passing minute, he wanted more and more to pound Bran into dust.

But Max was looking at him with those honest, determined eyes.

"Fine."

They spent a few minutes piling up some wood, though what was readily available in this spot where they were camping would not be enough to last the night. Max also took the opportunity to text his mom so she wouldn't worry when they didn't return right away.

He couldn't figure out how to tell her, "We made a friend, sort of, and now Norman is counting the ways he wants to kill him alphabetically and he hasn't even gotten to the letter G yet, so things could be better," so he didn't.

Virgil returned shortly thereafter, Bran in his wake. Bran looked calm and almost cheerful; Virgil's eyes were downcast and he was clacking his beak as he did when he was thinking hard. Max wanted to ask Virgil about it, but Bran spoke first.

"We need more firewood, I see. I will collect some."

And he promptly took off into the woods.

Max eyed Norman once before following.

Virgil looked after the pair of them, then gulped.

"Virgil." Norman loomed over his friend. "What is it?"

Virgil shook his head.

" _Virgil_."

"Keep an eye on the Mighty One, Norman. Please."

Norman's eyebrows rose in surprise. It had been some time since he had heard such distress, such defeat in his friend. But that was enough to convince him.

Norman set off to track his boy without another word.

-==OOO==-

"I appreciate the company, Mighty One," Bran said.

Max shrugged. "No big deal. So...you get everything sorted out with Virg?"

"It is difficult to say."

Max wasn't sure how to answer that, so he opted to try another method. "So, when you're not being a soldier and rescuing Firebird feathers, what do you do? Play checkers?"

Bran chuckled. "I do not have many skills, I fear, other than those arts of war which have been the study of my lifetime."

"Oh."

"And yourself?"

"Uh, more like you than not, I guess," Max said. "I used to do a lot more goofing around and hanging with my friends and stuff, but lately I've been trying to get better at the whole hero business. But I can still play a mean _Dragon Fighters of the Shadow: Requiem_."

Bran set down the wood he had gathered and faced Max. "It is good that you focus on the skills required by your fate, Mighty One."

"Well" Max shrugged. "It's not like _Dragon Fighters_ is ever going to help me save the world. Probably."

"You are likely correct." Bran tipped his head to the side. "But you did not fight today."

"Didn't need to," Max said. "You and Normie had it covered."

"And you carry no weapon."

Max blinked. "I've never really needed one. I mean, I usually just pick up whatever I can find and make it work."

Bran reached into one of the folds of his vest, drawing out a small pistol. "Take it and I will instruct you. You should learn to protect yourself." He held it by the barrel and offered Max the grip.

Max swallowed. Then he put both hands behind his back. "No offense, but guns aren't really my scene."

Bran frowned.

"Besides." Max made a bright, cajoling smile. "With Normie around, it's not like I'm ever going to get in the kind of situation where I'd want one. Except maybe shooting out locks or something. I haven't mastered the whole put-your-foot-through-a-door thing yet."

"Mighty One." Bran's frown grew darker, his eyes narrow. "Forgive me for saying so, but for you not to be able to fire a gun is a lapse in your training. This ignorance could cost you your life."

"I don't see it happening, really." Max shrugged. "I mean, yeah, I get in a lot of trouble, even without Normie around. But I always get out of it."

"And one day you may find yourself alone with nothing but an enemy's weapon and a man wishing to kill you. What will you do then?"

"Talk really fast. Maybe run. But shooting someone isn't even in my top one-hundred go-to options." Max's posture tightened and his chin came up as a memory of a battlefield visited briefly between portals bloomed in his chest. "I've seen enough of what guns can do to last a lifetime."

Bran blinked at the change that came over the boy. He grew from smiling and dismissive to something else entirely – something with a core strong enough to _burn_.

If anything, this angered him more.

"Your Guardian is a _fool_ if he lets you believe you cannot be harmed so easily, if he does not teach you to protect yourself at any cost."

"You...you think I believe I can't get hurt?" Max shook his head and swallowed thickly. "You're _way_ off the mark here in more ways than one." He squared his shoulders and faced Bran with a steely gaze. "Norman's fine. What he teaches me isn't any of your business. If you want to play with guns, be my guest. But I won't be using one." He began to step around Bran to rejoin the others.

Bran caught his shoulder with the hand not holding the pistol. "We are not finished discussing this."

Max looked at the pistol, then up into Bran's face. "Yes. We are."

Bran was so surprised by the absolute, irrevocable will behind Max's words that he let go.

Max gave him a nod and his expression softened, accepting an implicit truce between them. But he didn't completely turn his back until he was around the nearest tree and out of sight.

Bran tucked the pistol back into its place in the holster attached to his vest. He considered where Max had gone before edging off in another direction.

Neither of them noticed the shadow that detached itself from the darkness behind them.

-==OOO==-

Max reentered the firelit area where Virgil was carefully rolling out the sleeping bags.

"Where's Normie?" he asked.

Virgil did not look up. "I am certain he is merely ensuring our safety in this location."

"Virg." Max squatted beside him. "Come on. Remember who you're talking to? Max, your buddy? Chosen One and Hero? Inventor of the ever-popular meatball taco pizza?"

Virgil chuckled. "I would not use the word 'popular' to describe it, Mighty One. Though it was certainly an...experience."

Max smiled. Virgil was starting to sound more like himself. "Normie liked it."

"Norman," Virgil said with a delicate sniff, "will eat anything which contains meat. Regardless of whether or not it is a good idea."

"Or just about anything with the word 'pizza' in it," Max agreed. "Remember that one guy who tried to feed us borscht pizza?"

"No." Virgil actually shivered. "I absolutely refuse to recall it. Or I shall not eat for days with that _smell_ in my mind."

Max laughed. "It was _something_ , anyway!"

"Something inedible."

"Unless you're Norman."

"Yes, Mighty One. Norman is, as usual, exceptional." But Virgil's humor died as he said it, and he went stiff again.

"Virg." Max tapped the Lemurian on the shoulder. "Whatever you're not telling me? It's really, really obvious."

"I know." Virgil swallowed. "I just...please allow me to defer until Norman arrives. I should speak to you both, that is, I should speak to all of you at the same time."

Max looked up as a crashing sound echoed in the forest not far away, and growing closer.

"My guess?" He got to his feet, braced for anything just in case. "I think Normie's on his way."

-==OOO==-

"Hey."

Norman was not surprised when Bran failed to show alarm at his appearance. He merely turned, shifting his load of firewood into the crook of one arm.

"You wish to speak to me?"

"Not really," Norman told him. "I want you out of here."

Bran frowned. "That is not your decision to make. My fate lies in the hands of the Mighty One."

Norman shook his head. "I am his Guardian. And I don't want you anywhere near him."

"Guardian, eh?" Bran scoffed. "A poor one, perhaps."

Norman growled.

"If you had any honor at all," Bran said, "you would accept what is to come."

"And what's that?"

"A change. Long overdue." Bran adjusted the bundle of firewood. "You are a man of an ancient world, a time crumbled to nothing. So is the feathered one who pretends to be so wise. You know nothing of this world or its needs or its dangers."

Norman gave a dark smirk. "I've got a smartphone. I'm not as stupid as you think."

"No, you are far _more_ foolish," Bran replied. "Your arrogance to defy the gods and live beyond your time will be your end."

Norman's smirk vanished. "How do you know that?"

"I know what you are, _Guardian_." He said the word with disgust. "I know the stories. You are a legend." Bran shook his head. "You should have _died_ a legend."

"Oh really?"

"There is a reason none know of you since the Dark Ages."

Norman glowered. "Oh. Really."

"You are obsolete, like the horse in the time of the automobile. When man was weak and the world vast and frightening, yes. You were a force. But now." Bran shrugged. "Now you are only fit for circuses and the revels of children. Archaic. _Primitive_."

Norman reached for his sword and only just stopped short of drawing it. "Do you want a _primitive_ demonstration?"

Bran dropped his free hand to his gun in its holster. "I can shoot and kill you before you take a step. It would simplify matters. But out of respect for the Mighty One, I will not."

"Then, out of _respect_ for the Mighty One, _get lost_."

"I cannot. The sun has set on your time and is rising upon mine." Bran moved to pass Norman, pausing only to speak over his shoulder. "Bid farewell to the Cap-Bearer. He will no longer be needing your protection."

Norman spared only one split-second to consider drawing his sword and attacking Bran right then and there. Instead, he turned and stormed for the camp.

Norman burst out of the trees to find Max on his feet, watching for him. The Guardian was privately pleased to see the boy in a defensive posture, one he felt sure Max didn't even know he had adopted. His Mighty One was learning.

"We should go home. Tonight."

Max blinked at him. "How come?"

Norman levied a glare at Virgil.

Virgil did not waver. "We cannot. We have matters to resolve."

"Indeed." Bran stepped out from the trees, dropping his pile of firewood to one side.

Max looked to him. "What's going on?"

"A correction. One which is greatly necessary." Bran did not fully enter the clearing, but he edged closer to the others. "I believe you Americans have a saying? 'Out with the old, in with the new,' is it?"

"How about out with _you_ before I stomp you into next week?" Norman spat at him.

"Norman, please." Virgil held up his hands. "You must…"

But when he didn't finish his sentence, Max turned to him. "Must what?"

Bran looked down his nose at the Lemurian. "How can one called upon to guide the Mighty One in the ways of heroism be so cowardly?"

"Hey!" Max put his hands on his hips. "Cut it out!

To his surprise, Bran drew up into a rigid stance. He didn't salute, but the posture was as sharp as if he had. "As you wish, Mighty One. I will do as you ask, now and always."

"Always?" Max repeated, surprised.

"Yes."

"No," Norman said at the same time. "He's leaving. _Now_."

"I am going nowhere," Bran said.

"Norman." Virgil's tone was almost pleading. "He can't leave."

"Why not?" Every muscle in Norman's body was tense. His words were hard as granite. "Virgil, what is he talking about? I want an explanation."

Virgil moved his beak nervously for a moment, then stilled. His shoulders drooped.

"Very well. But I fear you will not like it when you hear it."

Max looked between them. "Virgil." He waited until the Lemurian met his gaze. "You promised me no more secrets. You _promised_. You have to tell us. Preferably _before_ World War Three breaks out here."

"You are correct, of course, Mighty One." Virgil sighed. "Sit. All of you."

Bran shifted to lean against a tree. Norman looked as though he intended to stand as well – until Max plopped onto the log Norman had dragged over earlier. Then Norman perched on the log beside his boy. Deliberately close to his boy.

"Norman, Mighty One, you are both aware of the now-averted event which was fated to bring an end to Norman's time as Guardian, correct?"

Max gulped. As long as he lived, he would never forget the panel in Virgil's home depicting Norman's death which had been recreated in real life before Max had reset time and fate. He nodded.

"Well." Virgil shifted from foot to foot, but did not duck away from their attention. "Destiny long knew that Norman's end would be such. And yet, the Mighty One was prophesied to live on. Therefore, a new Guardian would be needed."

Max blinked. Swiveled his head to Bran. "Virg...you mean…"

Virgil nodded. "At the exact moment that Norman was meant to die on that particular winter solstice, another warrior was imbued with some of the Guardian's powers, which is to say a certain degree of strength and invulnerability. Norman's long-livedness is his own, but some of what makes him so unstoppable is the gift of destiny he bears."

"It came to me," Bran said. "I am the new Guardian."

"Over my dead…" Norman began, growling.

Max stood and stepped between them, hands out. "Wait, wait." He turned back to Virgil. "Is this like that time there was another Max sent by Skullmaster?"

"No," Virgil said. "Bran is legitimately who he says he is. Maximilian was nothing but a pawn. While he did share your birthday and age, everything beyond that was mere coincidence exploited by Skullmaster."

Max darted a glance to Bran, who looked ever so slightly affronted at the association with Skullmaster.

"In that case," Virgil said, "there was but one true Chosen One. In this case, because Norman did not perish on the solstice, there are technically _two_ Guardians, both gifted with the power to defend the Mighty One."

"Not only that." Bran took a step forward. "I have something the former Guardian does not."

Norman would have risen to his feet in protest of the word 'former' but for Max's outstretched hand keeping him at bay.

"What do you mean?" Max asked Bran.

"I will never forget that moment," Bran said, staring intently at Max as though there were nothing else in the world. "I know not if it was day or night, for I had been in a difficult situation separated from my comrades, enduring a storm which had not let up for more than a week. I was wounded and being hunted. I thought I would die."

He inched forward.

"From the sky came a bolt of lightning brighter than any I have ever seen before or since. When it struck me, it filled me with purpose, and with power. I saw you in my mind, Mighty One. I saw you and I understood that I had been chosen to give my life in your service. I saw many battles you had already won and many more yet to come."

Max swallowed and felt frozen as Bran advanced another step. Bran's pale blue eyes bored into Max's own.

"And from that instant, I have known your every thrill of fear, your every moment of doubt, your every pain. I do not always know the source, but I share every instant you suffer. Every scrape, every bruise, and _everything_ worse."

Max shivered. "You feel... _everything_?"

"I felt my chest split when you nearly died in another world. I felt the cold of an ancient evil. I knew your bitter tears and your painful healing." Bran was now close enough to touch Max's outstretched palm with fingers that nearly shook. "And when you were in Toyama, I counted your broken bones, your bleeding wounds, your screaming sobs. Your torture was my own."

Max's voice broke. "How?"

"I do not know, Mighty One," Virgil said quietly. "Such a thing should not be possible. Such a link was never foretold."

"But that is why." Bran stepped closer still, until Max's hand rested on his chest. "That is why it is I who must be by your side now, Mighty One. Only I can truly protect you, for only I truly comprehend your suffering."

This time, Norman did shoot to his feet.

Bran moved quickly, catching Max's arm and pulling the boy to his side protectively.

"Let him go." Norman drew his sword, his head down, eyes glittering.

"No." Bran scowled. "This hurt I have known? This is _your_ doing. The pain, the _agony_? _You_ permitted the Mighty One to suffer. You are unfit to be his Guardian. Fate has called upon me in the face of your failure. It has bound me to him."

"Wait. Hang on a minute." Max tried to pull away from Bran, but the larger man's grip was unwavering.

"I said." Norman shifted, crouching low and ready to strike. " _Let him go_."

"Accept this with grace, if you can," Bran replied with a cold sneer. "I am here because I could no longer stand the pain _you_ failed to prevent. I did not come when I was first called for you still lived. Now I see the folly in putting my trust in you. Your time as Guardian has ended. It should have ended the instant I was called. If I had been Guardian to the Mighty One, I would never have let him know the pain of Skullmaster's torment!"

Norman went very still.

Max wrenched himself free of Bran at the growing horror in Norman's eyes. "Hey! That wasn't Normie's fault!"

"The Guardian has but one responsibility," Bran said, never looking away from Norman. "He is to keep you from harm. Any failure in this duty is his fault as much as that evil which dealt it to you."

Some of the aggression melted out of Norman's posture. "He's...he's right, Mighty One. Protecting you is the only thing that matters."

"Not to me, it isn't!" Max turned his back on Bran and planted himself almost in Norman's face.

"But – "

"Norman, you're my friend!" Max clenched his hands at his sides. "And you're the best Guardian a Cap-Bearer could ever ask for! Now quit blaming yourself for what Skullmaster did so we can figure this out!"

"You forgive too easily," Bran said. "It is noble and I expect nothing less of you. But I will not be so gracious. For as long as you remain with your former protector, you are in danger. This I cannot allow."

"Just a moment!" Virgil moved into the tight knot of the three of them, placing himself at Max's side but facing Bran. "Guardianship is not solely your decision, nor that of destiny. Even though Norman was called, it was I who ultimately accepted him and took his oath. It was the Mighty One who gave Norman his trust."

"That's true," Max said, still looking at Norman. "You told me that some of this stuff is fate, but some of it is free will. I _chose_ you, big guy. And I'd do it again."

"Destiny is comprised of three parts," Virgil said to Bran. "Fate, free will, and random chance. While Norman may have been fated to die on that solstice, the free will of the Mighty One changed all our destinies, including the Guardian's. You cannot undo that."

"And yet I am also Guardian," Bran said. "But clearly the more fit, for it is I who know the pains and sorrows that have been allowed to touch the body and spirit of the Cap-Bearer." He looked past Max and Virgil to Norman. "How long was it until you understood what had been done to the Mighty One? How long until you knew that he was in the hands of Skullmaster, and screaming? Hours?"

Norman could only nod.

"Had you been the _true_ Guardian, had you known as I knew, you could have saved him much suffering."

"Then why didn't you?" Virgil asked archly. "If you knew the Mighty One's peril, why did you do nothing to thwart it?"

At this, Bran flinched, then squared his jaw in pure annoyance. "While I may know the pains of the Mighty One, I did not know his location. Only later did I hear of the events in the city and guessed the rest. I knew the feel of Skullmaster's evil from the visions I received, but could not have followed my link to its source. It does not guide me."

"Then how did you find us this time?" Max asked.

Bran actually looked away. "I consulted someone who gave me a vision of when I might come upon you. You cannot imagine my relief that fate had at last led you to me, that our paths might cross and I might finally take my place at your side as your shield and sword."

"Hold on, there," Max said. "Nobody's changing the lineup just like that."

"Mighty One," Bran said, "I ask you to consider. Your blood has been shed. Your bones broken, your skin and flesh torn. And this one did _nothing_ but watch you suffer."

Max faced him. "Norman always came for me. Always."

"And I would do better," Bran said. "Your pain is my own. I would guard you from it that we might both live in peace." He bent forward, knee dipped. "Please. I will give you my oath and my life. Accept it, and you will never be harmed again."

Max looked to Virgil with wide, confused eyes.

Virgil dropped his gaze. "I do not know what you should do, Mighty One."

"Traitor," Norman muttered.

Virgil spun on Norman, suddenly irate. "The Mighty One is my first priority! You _know_ that! I cannot cast aside _any_ advantage that might ensure his safety, no matter how distasteful."

Max was appalled. "Norman's our _friend_."

Virgil nodded. "And he would give his life for you. He must be willing to do whatever is necessary for your sake, Mighty Max. _Including_ stepping aside, if that is the correct path."

"Exactly," Bran said.

Max ignored him. He was caught in the expression on Norman's face. He'd never seen Norman look so furious and so heartbroken all at once.

"But what is the right path?" Max asked, suddenly feeling very small, very unsure, and very scared.

"I do not know," Virgil said, more gently. He put his feathered hands on Max's shoulders. "But, Mighty One, it is you and you alone who must find it."

Max looked over at Norman, his Guardian, his friend, his buddy. His protector, teacher, and Guardian. And then he looked at Bran, still half-kneeling, and felt the strange tug of something his chest. Something that bound them.

And Max had no idea what to do.


	3. The Dangerous Life

Virgil's heart ached at the lostness and confusion in the Mighty One's eyes. The boy had grown so much from that first day he had received the Cap, had defeated everything from dragons to demigods, as he boasted, and had accepted and finally embraced his role as a defender of his world against all evil.

Mighty Max could stand up against monsters and Skullmaster and death itself, and his fortitude had yet to fail him.

But his spirit...

Norman had told Virgil that, while the Guardian might defend the Mighty One's life, it fell to Virgil to protect his heart. That Norman could save the Cap-Bearer from threats that would hurt him, but Virgil must guide him across a path that would keep his soul intact, unblemished if possible.

Virgil had not always been successful at such. Stonehenge, the alternate dimension, Mount Ararat, Toyama – they had all left their marks on the Mighty One's soul.

He was determined not to let this new situation add another.

"Mighty One." Max fixed his eyes on Virgil and the Lemurian felt as though he had just become a rope thrown to someone drowning in quicksand. "I am sincerely sorry that this has come to pass. It is not an easy situation for any of us."

That won him a wan smile from the boy. "You're telling me, Virg."

"And while I stand by my belief that, ultimately, to you will fall the final resolution, I may be able to provide you more information that could be of help."

"I thought you said this wasn't in the prophecy."

"True." Virgil released the Mighty One and straightened his robes. "However, there may be inferences I can draw from the resources I do have."

Max sighed. "English, Virg?"

"None of my scrolls detailed this particular scenario, but that does not mean there is nothing in them which could help us navigate it," Virgil said. "However, anything of value that I can extrapolate will have to be calculated within the parameters of the current state of your overall destiny and its ongoing development."

" _That_ was English?" Max rolled his eyes playfully.

Virgil kept his smile small; he did not need Max to know how it lifted his heart to see the boy with his spirits improved. Virgil was willing to put himself in many positions ripe for mockery if it helped the Mighty One feel comfortable and confident again.

"In short, you must allow me to take some time with my scrolls. I have some rather difficult calculations to factor, and I would appreciate the chance to do so in isolation."

Norman looked up again. "You brought your scrolls _here_?"

"Of course not." Virgil sniffed, privately pleased that his old friend was also showing signs of his true self and less of the guilt-riddenness he had been displaying. "But while you have been guarding the Mighty One at school, I have made much use of modern technology. I have several scans of the information I could potentially need preserved on my phone."

Max snorted. "Let's hope your phone never gets hacked, then. Imagine somebody hoping to get credit card numbers and winding up with your old Lemurian stuff." Then he grinned. "They'd probably give everything back just on principle!"

"Be that as it may, I realize it is an inconvenient time to absent myself, but I believe that is how I will be the most use to you in this."

Max nodded. "Okay. Do you want to go home for this anyway?"

Virgil considered. On the one hand, it would be much easier for him to work with the actual scrolls now stored in the Mighty One's house than the digital versions on his phone, and he would have privacy in which to focus. On the other, he could not return there without the help of the Mighty One, and he felt certain neither Norman nor Bran would allow them to travel without both following along.

And, also, Virgil felt that he didn't really want to trust Bran with the location the Mighty One called home. Not yet. Virgil had bled at Skullmaster's hands once for his refusal to disclose as much. He was not keen to release such knowledge until his own foreboding feelings were eased.

So he said, "No, though thank you, Mighty One. However, I may need to find someplace close by with access to the electrical grid. My phone's battery will not last for the duration of my work, I fear."

Max turned to Bran. "Okay. So where's the closest city or town or, I dunno, secret generator in the woods we can borrow?"

Virgil felt that he should object to inviting Bran to help, but kept his thoughts to himself. The Mighty One had to resolve this situation in his own way. Which might include allowing Bran to prove himself.

Bran's face bent into a broad smile at the offer from the Mighty One to assist. "There is an old mining camp not far from here. It has not been in use for a few years, but I have kept it stocked with supplies should my comrades be in need. I have several generators there that I would be grateful to put to this purpose."

"And your friends won't come looking for us there?" Max asked.

"No. They do not frequent it. It is difficult to reach for a large group. The road is narrow and treacherous."

Max nodded. "Okay. So, how about we all get some sleep? Then we can head that way in the morning when it's light. And...you know. Figure everything out from there."

"An excellent plan," Virgil said, not missing how the boy's shoulders drooped slightly.

"I concur," Bran said. His eyes were warm on the Mighty One, and he seemed determined to simply ignore Norman entirely.

Norman gave a low grunt which was generally a noise of assent.

Virgil looked between the two enormous men.

_It is well to have a strategy upon which we all agree, but that still leaves us with the rest of this evening in the company of one another._

He glanced at the Mighty One.

_Prepare yourself, Cap-Bearer. I fear that the worst still lies before us._

-==OOO==-

Max was dreaming.

The mini-mall behind him was dark, its stores vacant and closed. The parking lot that stretched out before him had cracks in the pavement, grasses and weeds pushing up into the fading sunlight where cars once idled. The wind was hot and dry, and the sky was unforgivingly blazing and cloudless.

A shadow appeared on the horizon.

Max watched the small dot grow larger and larger. By the time it reached the far edge of the parking lot, he could make out the shape of a bear. As it drew closer and closer to his perch on what had been a corral for shopping carts, Max could make out details.

The bear was huge, but its brown fur was ragged, mangy and thin in places. The bear shuffled heavily, every step an effort given the heavy chains the bear dragged with it.

The bear's muzzle was locked shut by a metal band which was connected by too-short links of chain to a thick collar. Each paw was similarly manacled, and the chains were short enough that the bear was forced to take lurching, shuffling steps to move anywhere.

And everywhere the chains touched, the bear's fur was worn to nothing, and its skin was covered with abrasions.

Pity and sympathy lodged in Max's throat at the state of the poor creature.

He jumped down from his seat and began to cross the parking lot, reaching out. He felt sure that he could relieve the bear's suffering if he could just get the chains off and set it free.

But before he could touch the first of the chains, the bear growled at him.

Max hesitated.

The bear lowered its head, lips curled back to display its sharp but yellowed teeth.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Max tried to keep his voice coaxing.

The bear's growl only intensified.

"Don't you want me to help you?"

He reached for the chains once more.

But when his fingers touched the metal, it _burned_.

The pain was intense enough to wake Max out of the dream completely.

Max pulled his hand to his chest, stretching the fingers. They seemed okay now, but he could almost sense the lasting harm he would have suffered in the dream. He rubbed the skin of his fingertips, and he couldn't stop feeling like they ought to be hot.

"Mighty One?"

Max looked up.

The fire had mostly burned itself out, but the coals and the stars above glowed enough to see in the darkness. Max himself was nestled in a spot between the fire and Virgil. On Virgil's other side, Bran was seated on one of the log seats. Across the coals of the fire, Max could see Norman apparently dozing sitting up against a tree.

But if Norman were really asleep, Max would eat his Cap. With wasabi and cheese.

"I'm okay," he said softly, not wanting to wake Virgil. "Just a dream."

Bran nodded. "Do you wish to discuss it?"

 _With you? Nope. Maybe not with anybody._ Max swallowed. _But I probably don't need Virgil to tell me what it means. Or...maybe I do. Is it Bran? And the chains are my connection to him? It would make sense with the whole causing pain thing._

_But that doesn't feel right somehow._

"No. Thanks."

"You need not keep your thoughts to yourself. I can feel your anxiety, Mighty One."

 _Well, that's inconvenient._ "Sorry."

Bran smiled. "It is no trouble. Rather, I am grateful that I share this connection to you. How better could I know if you are in danger than to sense it for myself? Even while you sleep."

"I guess. But...it's not exactly comfortable for me, you know." Max forced himself not to think about Skullmaster in Toyama rooting through his feelings like a junk drawer. "And it hasn't been the most peaceful few months lately either. For both of us, apparently."

"I would rather know, Mighty One. I would rather know and be here to help than feel your suffering from afar with no power to relieve it."

Max let out a breath. "I guess that makes sense." He made himself smile. "Thanks for worrying."

"You may ask anything of me you wish, Mighty One. To offer comfort is no trouble."

Max nodded and settled back in his sleeping bag, turning his head away. He didn't need Norman to open his eyes or even shift one feature in his apparently-granite expression to know that Norman was with him, too.

But he fell asleep still cradling his hand that should have been burned and wondering whether or not he'd seen a flicker of sorrow on Norman's face.

-==OOO==-

"Hey, Bran?"

Bran paused his long strides up the hill and turned back. The path was just barely wide enough for a small jeep, which meant it was only wide enough for the Mighty One and Virgil to walk side-by-side. Bran had been in the lead, given that he knew where they were going, leaving Norman to scowl from the rear.

"Yes, Mighty One?"

"We're pretty close to your hideout, right?"

"Less than a kilometer, I believe."

"Okay." Max fixed his eyes on Bran and tried to be both firm and apologetic. "Can you please go on ahead and, uh, scout the area for us?"

Bran raised an eyebrow. "You do not wish to follow?"

"No, no it's not that," Max said. Then he sighed. "I just want a minute to talk to Normie and Virgil. Okay? We'll be right behind you. I promise."

Bran regarded the pair before he nodded at Max. "I will do as you ask, Mighty One. If you do not join me within the hour, I will return for you."

"Fair enough. Thanks."

Bran ducked his head to Max and strode up the path alone. Max waited until he was out of earshot before he turned around.

"So."

Virgil's expression was troubled. It wasn't only Max who was feeling rather a lot of strain from the tension between Norman and Bran. The morning's breakfast had been the single most awkward meal of Max's life, and that included time spent with aliens, in other dimensions, or surrounded by relatives picking on him about his friend Bea.

And Norman had yet to speak a single word all day. He wasn't the most verbose of people, but Max knew the difference.

Virgil adjusted his robes. "I sincerely hope I can find something that will be of help, Mighty One."

"Yeah, me too." But Max looked up at Norman and stepped closer. "Big guy? Are we...okay?"

Norman looked away.

Max gulped. "You're scaring me here, Normie."

Norman's voice was grave and low. "I...don't know what to do."

"None of us do," Max said. "That's why Virg's going to figure it out."

Norman shook his head. He finally met Max's eyes, and Max was disturbed to see the pain threatening to well up. "I...cannot help but think..."

Virgil's breath hitched.

Max threw his arms out. "No way! Just because some new guy shows up doesn't mean you're not my Guardian anymore!"

"Maybe I shouldn't be." Norman's eyes hardened. "He's right, you know. You have gotten hurt on my watch. And if he can prevent it…"

"Normie…"

"Mighty One." Virgil held up a hand. "The truth is, none of us yet knows what must be."

Max glared at him. "We might not know what destiny is up to, but there are some things I _definitely_ know, and one of them is that Norman always did his best!" He looked up at Norman. "You did. I _know_ you did."

"My best may not be enough anymore."

Max wanted to shout back, but he closed his eyes and turned his thoughts inward.

He was so _confused_. Norman was his friend, had walked through the end of the world with him, had saved his life more times than he could count across two different runs of time. He knew he was going to be okay when Norman was near, knew that Norman would protect him from monsters or bullets or hellfire. He knew that Norman guarded him in his sleep, too, watching over him to drive away nightmares.

One day ago, he would never, never have questioned Norman's place at his side.

But the longer Max spent in the presence of Bran, the more he could feel something he couldn't explain. And time and multiple near-misses with the end of the world had taught him not to ignore those feelings when they came.

There was something shivery about Bran's presence, like a constant light breeze just cool enough to raise goosebumps on his arms. But there was also an undeniable sense of connectedness. Not the same sense he had about the Cap, and not like the connection that had grown between himself and Virgil and Norman. This was more visceral somehow. _More bloody_ , he thought, but Max couldn't have said where that idea came from. But if he envisioned a chain binding himself to his destiny, to Virgil, to Norman, and to the Cap, those chains were clean, shining, and strong.

The same could not be said of what he saw when he thought of Bran. That chain felt as though it were forged of flesh and blood, and it vibrated with an energy that made Max uncomfortable.

_But is that because of something about Bran, or because I don't want to lose Norman?_

And Max _hated_ that he couldn't be sure.

"Mighty One."

Max opened his eyes, having almost forgotten he was standing between Virgil and Norman and theoretically in the middle of a pep talk. Both were regarding him now with concern.

 _Bet they thought I was falling asleep_ , Max thought. He fought the urge to yawn. He had slept during the night, but his body was still trying to operate according to US Pacific Time, and it made being awake now, when it was the middle of the night back home, more difficult.

"Whatever happens," Max said, "we're always going to be buddies. Okay?"

A shade of sorrow flickered across Norman's face, but he nodded. He put a hand on Max's shoulder and squeezed.

"Whatever happens," he repeated, "I will always be here for you."

And Max realized there was another innate difference between Bran and Norman in that moment – Bran did not make Max feel as wholly _safe_ as Norman did.

Max's smile was easier for that insight. "I know you will. You've always been here when I needed you."

The sorrow lurking in Norman's expression deepend. "Not _always_."

" _Yes_ always," Max shot back. "Even if you weren't with me, you know, in person, you were _there_ , Normie. I knew you'd come, and I knew you'd help me. I knew you'd never give up."

"It didn't save you in Toyama."

Max didn't like the despair in Norman's tone. He aimed for light-hearted. "Do you need to go sit with Peter some more? Sounds like you've got some unresolved issues."

Norman did not rise to the bait. "Doctor Venkman cannot undo my failure to protect you."

"Now, Norman," Virgil said, "you know perfectly well that neither one of us was to blame for what happened. You destroyed three different cars, I believe, learning as much."

"Seriously?" Max was surprised. "Pete has you beat up cars?"

"Keeping him occupied on acts of destruction makes it easier for Norman to talk," Virgil told him.

"Oh, right." Max smiled at him. "Busy hands are happy hands, right?"

That won him a more familiar light in Norman's eyes, a tiny spark in the cloud of gloom. "Right."

"Mighty One."

Max turned to Virgil, who let out a breath. "Yeah?"

"If you wished...well. You _are_ the Chosen One. You have the ability to decide how you want to handle this situation on your own. You don't necessarily require my input."

"I know that." And Max felt intense guilt at his next words, but he couldn't not say them – that wouldn't be fair. "But if I do that, I'm just going to choose Normie and...I'm not _sure_."

Norman did not twitch so much as an inch, but Max could almost feel the big man's heart quaking in the grip on his shoulder.

"It's not...it isn't that I don't trust Norman with everything, because I _do_. But...after everything that's happened...I learned that I can't...I can't be wrong. You know? I can't make the wrong choice. It's...too dangerous."

Virgil closed his eyes. "This is the burden I wished to spare you, at least until you were older. The safety of the world _does_ rest in your hands, but you cannot be afraid of yourself, afraid of making mistakes. The consequences of doubt could be disastrous."

Max rounded on him. "Do you think I don't know that? I can't be scared, and I can't doubt myself, _and_ I can't make mistakes, or people die!"

Max heaved in a shuddering breath. Norman squeezed his shoulder again, and it steadied him.

"It's not exactly fair," he said more calmly. "There's just one path forward and it's narrower than the balance beam I fell off last week. I need everything I can get to help me. And that's why I need you to figure out anything you can, Virg. Anything to give me a hint."

"And if I find nothing?"

"Then I'll deal with it," Max said. "But...I'd rather have something than nothing."

"I understand."

Norman dropped his hand from Max's shoulder and moved to step away, but Max reached out and blocked his path with a gesture. "Normie?"

"Yes, Mighty One?"

"I want to ask you a favor."

Norman's expression was still torn in many facets of emotion, repressed and not, but he squared his jaw with determination. "Anything."

"Don't stop fighting for me."

Norman's eyebrows rose. "But…"

"I mean it." Max peered at him, putting all his feelings into his eyes. "I've got enough to do sorting this out. I need you to keep being the tough guy for me. I need to know that things won't change between us. I need to be able to count on you to be my Guardian so I can figure out the rest of it."

Norman hesitated.

Max's face fell. "Unless you don't want to be anymore."

"No." Norman was glad he did not have a hand on Max's shoulder or he might have bruised the boy – his entire body went taut like a bowstring at full pull. "Mighty One, no. Don't even think it. Don't _ever_ think it."

Max relaxed. "Okay, then. I believe you. Just...keep fighting. Okay? I mean, the whole you and Bran wanting to rip each other's throats out isn't helping much, but if you give up…"

"I understand." Some of the unhappiness melted and Norman gave a half-smile, the one that he donned when preparing for a battle. "I won't let you down."

"You never have, big guy."

-==OOO==-

Of course, inviting Norman to continue his aggressiveness meant that upon reaching the mining camp, the air was thick with antagonism once more. Bran showed Virgil and Max into a small hut which had apparently once served as an office and also held a cot and a few basic supplies, including the generators.

"Now," Virgil said, "I will need to be able to concentrate uninterrupted." He began pulling out his notebook and arranging himself on the cot with the paper before him and the phone plugged into the generator at one side.

"Anything we can do to help?" Max asked.

"Some quiet would be appreciated."

Max sighed. Then he reached into his own pack and pulled out a packet of paper. "Fine. Then I'll take this chance to catch up on math worksheets." He pulled over one of the chairs so he could work at the small table.

"I could help, if you wish," Bran offered. "I am fond of mathematics. I find them soothing."

"The Mighty One does not need your help," Norman said.

Max smiled at Bran anyway. "I've pretty much got this stuff. I just have this one teacher who likes to give really long assignments to me since I miss a bunch of school thanks to hero business. It's boring, but not too bad."

Norman snorted. "Told you." He settled himself leaning against the wall nearest the Mighty One, and sent Bran a slightly superior smile.

Bran did not miss that Max's shoulders relaxed when Norman took that place, even though he did not look up – an unconscious comfort and trust with the Guardian which Bran had not been granted.

Bran stood awkwardly in the center of the room for a moment. "Then perhaps I will ensure that we were not followed."

"Feel free to get lost," Norman told him.

Max looked over his shoulder at Norman with a look that was half censure and half amusement, and he shook his head with a huff. "Really?"

"He started it." Norman lifted his chin to indicate Bran.

"How?"

"He showed up."

"Fine." Bran swallowed his fury and tried to keep the bite from his tone. "I will go for now. But I _will_ return. You may be sure of that."

Bran glared one final time at Norman before he spun on his heel and stalked from the small building. Behind him, he could hear the frustrated sigh of the Mighty One.

"Normie, I know what I said, but you're still gonna have to let me give him a chance. We owe him a shot at proving himself, don't we?"

"Nope."

Bran's hands curled into fists. That flat, cold denial made him want to charge in there and force Norman to eat his words and his arrogance whole.

How _dare_ the former Guardian refuse to do what was best for the Mighty One? How _dare_ he remain when his time had ended?

"Very well," Bran said to himself. His feet carried him across the mining camp to a thick stand of bushes. Beneath it, he pulled open a box he had partially buried and covered with a tarp camouflaged by leaves and the detritus of the forest floor. He needed only feel around the contents of the hidden locker for a few moments before he found the spare radio and its batteries.

Bran glanced back across the camp, but even from here he could sense the Mighty One's frustration and discomfort, which confirmed for him that the former Guardian remained in the house still.

Bran turned on the radio and tuned it to the frequency he knew so well.

"This is Kovac," he said. "I wish to make a deal."

"We're not working with you anymore, traitor," returned a voice Bran could easily recognize, one that had been in his ear for countless missions. "You stole our property and deserted us."

"Then I will return the feather," Bran said. "I ask but one thing in return."

There was a long pause.

"Kovac." This voice was that of the current commander, a man Bran knew was greedy enough to bargain anything, even the lives of the unit, for that which he desired.

"I have the feather," Bran said again. "I will trade it to you."

"For what price?"

"A simple job." Bran's face split with a cold smile. "But I want everyone. Every single fighter in the unit. And as much weaponry as you can carry."

"What is the strength of the enemy?"

"Minimal. Eliminate any resistance you encounter."

"Bystanders?"

"Even more minimal."

"And the objective?"

"There is a boy." Bran ignored the flutter in his chest. This was the correct path. The only path. He _must_ get the Mighty One to see reason. "Acquire him at all costs."

"Dead or alive?"

Bran grit his teeth and forced himself to breathe out through his nose before he could answer. "Alive. But incapacitated if necessary."

"You do not care if the boy is hurt?"

Bran's gut roiled, but he clamped down on his feelings and forged ahead.

"I do not care, as long as he is mine."

"Understood. What are the coordinates? We will mobilize at once."

Even as Bran recited the information for his current location, he felt a strange mix of guilt and elation building up within. It was a betrayal, yes, of the Mighty One and the little trust he had been granted.

But if Bran must do something drastic to ensure that the former Guardian was deposed so that he could correctly protect the Mighty One forevermore, so be it.

The Mighty One would never know of his deception. His former comrades would not be able to inform him of anything; Bran would ensure it. But if they could destroy the pretender Guardian in the meantime, so much the better.

Either way, the Mighty One would be Bran's to serve and guard – starting today.


	4. No Surrender

Norman's eyes were closed and he was listening.

Virgil had ceased muttering to himself some time ago and was now scribbling rapidly, pencil dragging across paper with a distinctive scratch Norman could pick out of every other writing sound in the world after thousands of years together. Norman also knew, from long history, that when Virgil went silent while calculating, it meant he was onto something, following the trail of some esoteric piece of knowledge as a wolf would track a rabbit in the woods.

Norman didn't know whether or not he wanted this particular rabbit to be caught, so he opted not to focus on it.

In front of him, the steady breathing of the Mighty One was a rhythmic comfort in the otherwise quiet room. The boy had pillowed his head on his arms at the desk less than an hour before, yawning and muttering about math homework, and even Virgil had not interrupted Max's slide into sleep. Between the swap of time zones and the boy's stress, Norman didn't even need to open his eyes to know he and Virgil were very much in agreement about letting their charge rest.

 _Their_ charge.

Because Mighty Max had given Norman an order.

_Don't stop fighting for me._

The Mighty One didn't usually give such clear commands to his Guardian, though it was his right. He tended to make suggestions or call out courses of action, but rarely did he actually tell Norman what to do. Max trusted Norman, had trusted him from the very first day, and they worked as a sort of partnership based on that trust, on respect.

But when he _did_ give an order, unless it endangered the Mighty One's own self, Norman would break mountains to pebbles to follow it.

And the Mighty One could not have given a better one.

From the first appearance of Bran, Norman had been on edge. Just as with his instant, instinctive dislike of Maximilian, the pretender to the Cap-Bearer title, Norman had taken one look at Bran and known that Bran was _wrong_. Now, at least, he knew why.

Another Guardian.

 _A better Guardian_ , whispered the dark doubts in the recesses of Norman's own mind. _A Guardian who will be quicker to know when the Mighty One needs him._

But Norman quashed that inner voice ruthlessly. True or not, Mighty Max had ordered Norman to keep fighting. And that meant not only keeping up his antagonism against the pretender to Guardianship, but in fighting down the doubts in himself.

Though Norman felt pretty sure Max hadn't actually intended for him to keep feuding with Bran as much as he intended to do. But there was no other alternative. Norman couldn't abide the man's presence. He wanted him away from the Mighty One. He wanted him gone.

Accordingly, Norman tuned his senses outward, listening to the quiet forest beyond the walls of the small building. He had tracked Bran stomping away, putting enough distance between them that even Norman couldn't hear him any longer. It was at once a relief to have that margin, but also it unsettled the Viking.

At least when Bran was in range, Norman could keep an eye on him.

_Don't stop fighting for me._

Norman wondered if the Mighty One had considered the double meaning inherent in the words. He had meant it in the sense that he wished Norman not to yield to Bran and give up Guardianship easily. But Norman could also read it the other way – 'don't stop being a Guardian and battling on my behalf.' Which Norman would never do, _never_.

For as long as there was breath in his body, he would defend the Mighty One. Even if he was forced to relinquish Guardianship. Even if Mighty Max himself asked Norman to step down. Norman would simply go find battles and finish them in the name of the Mighty One. He would beat down the evil that dared rear its head, just to ensure that the Cap-Bearer would not have to face it himself.

Either way, Norman found he was uneasy with Bran in the distance. While he believed in the fervor Bran had shown towards the Mighty One, he did not trust him. There was too much that remained unknown, too much unrevealed. Bran might have been called by destiny, but that did not make him worthy or safe in the presence of the Mighty One.

And something deep in Norman's gut was waiting for Bran to betray them, just as Maximilian had. Perhaps even as unwittingly, but the feeling was the same.

So he continued to listen and wait, poised at any instant to defend his boy to the death.

When the attack came, he was ready.

-==OOO==-

Max woke to Norman's hand on his shoulder, shaking him. "Mighty One!"

Max needed several seconds to remind himself of where he was, of why he was asleep on a math book and why Virgil looked like he'd been in the middle of a paper explosion on a narrow cot in an unfamiliar room.

But he roused at Norman's call easily, and it took him even longer to remember that perhaps he should be wary of his Guardian.

And just as quickly, he dismissed it.

 _I might need to be careful about my Guardian, but I never have to worry about Norman_ , he thought.

"What is it?" he asked, getting up and moving out from behind the desk where he had more room.

"Someone is coming," Norman said. "Lots of someones."

Max turned. "Virg?"

Virgil was writing, his feathered hand flying across paper so quickly the pencil lead smeared in his wake. "You must let me continue, Mighty One," he said without even looking up. "I am close to the answer you seek."

Max sighed. "I guess that means we're staying put."

Norman growled. "This place couldn't hold up against a swarm of ants."

"You're right. That means we gotta shore it up, somehow, or keep the fight out of it," Max said. He headed for the door. "Come on. Maybe whoever's out there is friendly. Or lost. Or otherwise _not_ some kind of brain-sucking alien camels."

"That is very unlikely," Virgil put in from behind. "If they were alien, they would not be considered camels."

Max waggled his eyebrows at Norman. "Whatever you say, Virg. Just stay put. We'll handle things."

Max was out the door when Virgil looked up. "Norman."

Norman paused and looked back. The Lemurian's expression was grave.

"Take care of him. No matter what."

Norman nodded and followed the Mighty One into the late morning sunlight.

Max was already scrambling up on top of the roof of the low building, keeping himself close to the shingles. He peered out into the forest for a few moments before sliding back to the ground.

"The only thing I see moving is green. So either we've got little green men or guys wearing a lot of camouflage."

Norman growled. " _Bran_."

Max shrugged. "Or maybe a rival group, not the one he left. If they followed us here, they could also be after the feather."

Norman was deeply unconvinced, but he simply drew his sword.

Max darted back into the room, shouting something colorful at Virgil that Norman didn't catch, but he knew the tone of voice that meant the boy was spouting a particularly awful pun. He did hear Virgil call out, with great consternation, "Plumes indeed!" as Max returned, the Firebird feather in hand.

Norman raised an eyebrow at it. "You're not giving it back to them."

"No." Max shook his head, tucking it away in a pocket. "But if we can't just lead them away, we might be able to pull the carrot and stick routine with this."

Norman grinned. "Can I be the stick?"

Max laughed. "Always, big guy!" Then he set off towards the woods. "Let's go make some friends and hopefully they'll be friendly. 'Kay?"

Norman didn't hesitate, but he did ask, "What about Virgil?"

Max gulped and, for a moment, his face took on an expression that was far too old and experienced for his years. "I think we need to make whoever this is deal with us as far away from Virgil as possible, just in case. Virg's good at getting out of trouble, or at least yelling loudly enough that we'll know when he's _in_ trouble. But I really want to buy him some more time if we can."

"Works for me."

They dropped into silence after that, Norman sliding through the forest like a shadow and Max gamely keeping up, albeit somewhat less stealthily. He avoided all the obvious pitfalls of stepping on dry branches or crashing into bushes, but leaves rustled as he went by and he couldn't help but leave some evidence of his passing.

 _Norman has got to teach me how to do this better_ , he thought.

Norman, as if sensing Max's feelings, smirked.

Then Norman held up a hand and Max held still, listening with all his might. His own senses were blaring a warning, one he knew all too well.

Norman reached out a hand and Max took it unquestioningly. The Guardian swung Max onto his back and started to sprint forward, just as silently as before. Max was equally impressed that Norman could carry him without making a sound and irritated that he had to be carried in the first place.

But he was glad for it when Norman abruptly turned to slam an elbow into a soldier he didn't even know was there lurking under a bush.

As if that one action signaled a start to the fight, soldiers began pouring out of the forest like moths at night, surrounding them. Max slid from Norman's shoulder to free up his Guardian to fight – and to help out as well.

"If you wanted to come picnicking with us, you should have just asked!" Max shouted as he pulled back a tree branch and let it slam into the two nearest opponents. Neither was apparently expecting that move and both dropped – one with leaves in his teeth.

"Get him!" someone shouted.

Max lost himself in the fight for what felt like hours but was truly only a matter of minutes. He tended to do better in open areas, and the dense undergrowth was a problem for him more than anyone else because he couldn't just step over hedges like Norman could. On the other hand, the trees gave Max lots to work with. He swung from branches to land kicks to faces and tripped people with roots and generally dodged and weaved and led soldiers into Norman's flashing fists and feet.

"Now I know how a pinball feels!" he yelled as he bounced between two soldiers.

A second wave of them had just arrived and was swamping them when suddenly Max heard a gunshot from behind him. He spun and started to run. "Virgil!"

Norman, piled under five soldiers, called after him. "Mighty One! Wait!"

He rose up to throw all five off himself, only for ten more to join the fray. Norman could hear someone giving his position over the radios all the soldiers wore, and he heard more people crashing through the undergrowth in his direction.

And Max was rushing off alone.

Norman's heart went chill with fear.

"Mighty One!"

-==OOO==-

Max skidded to a halt at the tree line near the building where Virgil was.

A still form was sprawled across the ground just outside the door, unmoving.

Max approached slowly, keeping his head down and his eyes scanning for trouble. But he was only halfway to the building when he realized that the soldier who was down had a hole through the throat – and wasn't breathing.

Max drew back with a gasp.

"There!"

He whirled at the sound as two more men charged out of the undergrowth in his direction.

Max took a few steps back, bringing his hands into a defensive posture he had learned from Norman. His heart pounding in his chest seemed so loud he could barely hear anything past it.

And then two more shots rang out with a deafening roar.

Both soldiers fell. One landed and did not rise, nor grunt, and Max didn't have to look too closely at his ruined face to know he was dead.

The other, however, clasped a hand to his thigh, breathing hard and whimpering in pain even as he collapsed into the dirt.

"Mighty One."

Max spun to see Bran approaching from around the side of the small building, pistol in his hands. He stepped around Max and moved to stand over the injured soldier.

"You should not have come here," Bran said.

Then he fired at point-blank range into the soldier's heart.

Max fought down his gag reflex, setting a shaky foot behind him and bracing to run.

"Mighty One." Bran casually put his gun into its holster and held up both hands as he faced the boy. "You need not fear. You are safe now."

Images from Toyama rose in Max's mind and he had to bite the inside of his cheek not to be lost in them. He sucked in two quick breaths, grounding himself in the present.

"You...you killed them!"

Bran edged a step forward. "They were a threat to your safety. I had no choice but to eliminate them or they would have hurt you."

Max shook his head without looking away from Bran. "That's not...we don't…"

"You must come with me now while the rest are distracted," Bran said, pitching his voice low and coaxing. "If they can reach you here, they will continue to follow you. We must relocate somewhere safer."

Bran stretched a hand towards him.

Max jumped as if burned and put two terrified leaps between himself and Bran. "Don't touch me!"

"Mighty One. This is not the first time you have seen death. You yourself have killed enemies before. I know this. I have seen the visions. The werewolf woman, the ice aliens. These were enemies intent upon destroying you, and you rightly executed them. I have done no differently."

Bran glanced at the bodies, then continued in his gentle, cajoling tone.

"However, those were all non-human and could have been nothing more than collateral damage. Perhaps that is what you have been telling yourself. But you must admit that what I have done here was in your best interest, and was no different from your own choices."

Something in the way Bran both absolved Max of guilt and reinforced it actually steadied him, and Max was able to calm himself enough to glare back.

"Don't you tell me I didn't know exactly what I was doing! Just because I didn't ram a sword through them or something doesn't mean I didn't make the decision that killed them. I didn't want to do it, but I had to. And I'd do it again."

Bran nodded. "So we have an understanding?"

Max's rising anger continued to help him focus.

"No!"

"But, Mighty One…"

"I only took them down when there was no other way!"

He remembered the Scottish woman who had tortured Cameron's werewolf pack in order to steal their essence, strength, and immortality. He remembered facing her with only Cameron and the injured wolves, since Norman and Virgil had been locked up in jail. He remembered the wolves, whose only crime had been their existence, fighting for their lives against her. He remembered trying to hold back the three who had been prisoners, drained and injured, but they had refused, opting instead to fight with Cameron even though it would almost certainly kill them.

Max hadn't wanted anybody to die, but it seemed certain if he didn't do something, those who had been victims would be the ones to fall.

If Norman and Virgil had been with him, Max was sure Virgil would have had some kind of idea, some quick antidote or some other way to end the fight without killing the woman. But they weren't. And when the choice came – Cameron and his pack or the person who had hunted them and tortured them – Max made it. And he would make it again.

He remembered the ice aliens in the Aleutians who had been trying to freeze the planet so they could take it over – which Max always thought was kind of stupid, considering they could have just set up camp in Antarctica with nobody the wiser, but stupidity was a virtue in bad guys and he wasn't going to knock it – who, if they warmed above a certain point, melted and exploded. He remembered how they had replaced first the human soldiers at the location, then Virgil and very nearly Norman. He remembered how the discovery of their vulnerability had been completely accidental, but once revealed, Max had used it as much as necessary, ultimately wiping out every alien on the ship.

Max reasoned later that he _could_ have viewed the deaths of the aliens the same way he did Norman crunching the monsters at Skull Mountain – that they didn't count because they weren't human. But that logic had failed. These aliens weren't human, but that didn't mean they weren't people of some sort. They were a different species, order, genus, everything, but they were alive, sentient beings, and he had overseen their destruction.

If Max could have taken the time to figure out the exact amount of heat which would remove the aliens' disguises without killing them, he would have. If he could have disabled them, sent them home, stranded them on an iceberg, he would have. But the world had been in danger, Virgil and Norman had been in danger, and Max made the choice he had to make to ensure everyone's safety.

Norman told him later that the aliens were basically just big bugs with bad attitudes and Max shouldn't consider them as anything more than that. But then, Norman also drew a very strong distinction between taking down an opponent in self-defense and actively hunting someone down to put a knife in their back. The former, Max had done many times. The latter he hoped he never would.

After Toyama, though, Max had reassessed all his battles and all the foes he had defeated. He wasn't sure if he was grateful that the number of people he had actively killed was relatively small against the number he had saved or spared, or if he was appalled that the number was above zero at all.

But it was. Max had killed in the office of the Mighty One. He had taken lives. Deliberately. And he would do it again.

But that didn't mean it had been right. Just because it had been the _only_ way to save the world didn't mean it had been the _right_ way.

And what Bran had done was far worse.

Max had killed. Bran had _murdered_. He had _executed_ them.

Max pointed towards where Norman was audibly fighting a large group in the trees nearby. "Right now, Normie's not killing those people. He's hurting them and he's knocking them out, but they'll all walk away from today in the end. That's what we do, unless we don't have a choice. That's what we do for as long as we can."

Bran shook his head.

"I respect your intention, Mighty One, but you leave enemies behind you. One day, one of them will rise up and strike at you. And then what will become of the world, without you to protect it? Your kindness will result in your own death. A soldier must do whatever is necessary to ensure victory."

Max drew himself up.

"You're wrong. And I'm not a soldier. I'm a hero."

"You _are_ a soldier, even if you refuse to accept it.." Bran scowled. "Perhaps this is another reason I have been sent to be your Guardian. It is time for you to be better protected, and for you to be better educated as well."

Max's fury snapped tight in his chest.

"Keep saying stuff like that and you're going to make my decision really easy!" he shot back. "Nobody who kills a helpless opponent gets to be my Guardian!"

"Your precious Norman has done the same!" Bran yelled. "Did he not drop that stick-impaled Spike to his death for revenge?"

"Spike was up, talking, still dangerous, and could have cracked a mountain with his jaw alone." Max clenched his hands. "Norman could have chopped him in half, but all he did was give him a hand off the cliff. And even that might not've been enough!"

Then Max paused. Blinked. "Wait. How did you know about that?"

"I told you, I have seen many of your battles from before my calling as your Guardian. I received a vision."

Max shook his head, instincts guiding him. "I don't buy it. Spike was Norman's problem, not mine. I barely even tangled with the guy. I spent half that day running around breaking into the British Museum to steal Normie's axe. So either you've seen a lot more than you're letting on, or something else is going on here."

Whatever Bran might have said was interrupted by four more armed men charging towards them. Bran shoved Max behind him, though he did not draw his pistol this time. Instead, he squared himself for close combat.

"In deference to you, I will only disable these men," Bran said, "but if they get past me, I will do whatever is required to keep you safe."

"Nuh-uh. I'm drawing a line right here. If they cross it, _I'll_ take care of them. No more killing. Got it?"

Bran could only grunt in response as the first soldier reached him and they began exchanging blows.

Of the remaining three, two moved to pile on against Bran. The fourth pointed at Max and shouted, "The boy!" in a language Max didn't recognize, yet he understood it all the same. Max reflexively reached behind himself, but he could still feel the feather tucked in his back pocket, securely hidden under his shirt. He didn't have time to wonder how they knew where the feather was before he had to dodge a grab.

"How many paramilitary groups are out here, anyway?" he asked in English as he ducked under the man's arm. He had to jump carefully to avoid tripping on one of the bodies crumpled nearby, but he bought himself some breathing room to maneuver. "Did you guys put it online or something? Is this some kind of mercenary convention?"

The soldier blinked, apparently surprised at being addressed. "There are no others."

Max rolled his eyes even as he kept moving, positioning himself a little to the side of where Bran was somewhat buried under the pile of the other three.

"You're the second group we've tangled with in two days."

And then a cold and horrid realization dumped into his stomach.

"Or...maybe you're not."

Stunned, Max turned away to pay more attention to Bran wrestling his three opponents. They were all shouting in a different language, too, not the one Bran had spoken when he held off his former unit alone. Then, Bran had addressed them in Armenian. This was the same language the man who had called Max "the boy" was using.

He could make out hear bits and pieces in the cacophony, and he held still to listen, even as the fourth soldier used his distraction to clamp big arms around him.

"...want our cut!"

"...killed Georg!"

"...we had a deal!"

And Bran's voice cutting through all of them. "The feather's yours when you take care of those keeping me from the boy and we get away!"

The soldier holding onto Max hoisted him up and started to run.

Max felt like his entire chest had frozen, like his heart and his stomach and his lungs had been replaced with ice. His shock was so great, he barely recognized that he was being carried off like a sack of potatoes until he lost sight of Bran untangling himself from the other three and swearing at them.

_Bran set this up. He set us up. He called them here to take the feather._

_He betrayed us to his old unit._

_And he killed his own group. His own friends._

_All to...to...to convince me._

_Bran tricked us._

_Because he wanted me._

_Because he wants to be my Guardian._

"Let me go!" Max roared, lashing out with fists and feet. "Virgil! Norman!"

"Mighty One!" He could hear Bran again speaking English. "Do not fear! I will save you!"

Max gasped, then looked at the soldier carrying him.

"Put me down," he said quickly in the same language the man had spoken. "He'll kill you. Put me down and run before Bran comes after you."

The man shook his head and darted into the trees. "He won't. He is our comrade and we are assisting him."

"He _killed_ your comrades!"

"No. It was the other one. The one with the sword."

Max let out a cry of inarticulate frustration. "It's not Norman you have to worry about! It's Bran!"

"Bran hired us to save you from the other. Hold still."

Max saw Bran emerge from around the corner of the building. And now that he was looking for it, he could see a glint of calculation in his face, a smirk of satisfaction.

Then Bran raised his gun.

"Get down!" Max yelled.

The echo of the gunshot was still ringing in Max's ears as he felt the body carrying him go limp and he rolled to the ground. Max came up running, aiming to circle back towards the sounds of the larger fight.

"Norman! Norman, help!" he yelled.

"Mighty One!" Norman called from too far away.

Max only barely registered the flash of a familiar hand and then he was yanked sideways into the brush. Max didn't fight the hand, instead falling almost gratefully into Virgil as the Lemurian pulled him into a concealed spot between several rocks and trees.

"Are you hurt?" Virgil asked him in an urgent whisper.

Max gulped and shook his head. "No. But...what's going on? Bran...his own people…"

"I know. I heard their fight from inside. Apparently Bran was not only ignorant of your recent gift of languages, but of the many hundreds of dialects I speak as well." Virgil ran his hands over Max's shoulders, looking for bruising. His eyes darted about anxiously.

"Virg. He-he _killed_ them!"

"And at last I believe I know why," Virgil said. The Mighty One, he could see, was frightened and almost hyperventilating, and Virgil couldn't tell whether it was due to the deaths of the soldiers or the betrayal of one they had considered an ally. "I believe that the same force which binds Bran to you also makes him a very great danger to us all. That which is responsible for your link is polluting him, distorting the Bran that should be into the one that is."

"Why? What's doing it?"

Virgil swallowed. "It would take a being of great power and very deep knowledge of the ancient magics to influence anyone connected with your destiny, Mighty One. Even Skullmaster himself cannot manipulate the fate which binds us. I thought it should be impossible, but my calculations have revealed one situation which explains this."

Max stared at him, the cold in his chest getting even worse. "Who's got more power than Skullmaster?"

Virgil shushed him as heavy boots stomped past their position. Only when the person had gone by did he respond.

"It is not about power, Mighty One. Sheer strength or magic could not do this alone. It required a connection. A seed within Bran's soul that could be nurtured to this devastating effect. There is only one being who could reach into the heart of a man to so drastically change him and alter his path, and with enough power and malice to wish to do so."

Max frowned. "Spit it out, Virg!"

"It is Locknarr, the immortal spirit of violence. Only he could have forged the connection between you and Bran and used it to infect the potential Guardian with such darkness."

Max's eyes went wide.

And then the concealing branches above them disappeared, crushed to one side by an enormous arm. Max and Virgil looked up to find Bran regarding them both with harsh eyes.


	5. Need to be Saved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> It's nice to be back. Also, it's a lot simpler to upload just one chapter a week! Even if I am sure you might prefer to have next week's chapter a little sooner…
> 
> Enjoy!

"Mighty One." Bran held out a hand and Max flinched; it was flecked with blood. "Come with me. Now."

Max shook his head and gulped. "Bran…"

"You are not safe here, Mighty One. There are many more soldiers, and they will continue to pursue you. Come with me. We must elude them at all costs."

Virgil interposed himself and looked up at Bran fearlessly. "And just _who_ alerted them to our presence? I suppose you have no knowledge of how they could have found us here."

Bran's face darkened with anger. "Do you accuse me of endangering the Mighty One?"

"Yes." Virgil's own eyes were narrowed. "I think you would do anything required to decide us in your favor. Your judgment cannot be trusted."

"You trusted me until now," Bran returned, visibly seething.

"I was obligated to hear your case with an open and unbiased mind," Virgil said. "But trust? That must be earned fairly."

Max looked at Bran's face. The rising fury that contorted his features was familiar, now that he knew for what to look. There was menace in the back of Bran's eyes and a howl in the set of his jaw. Once he saw Locknarr there in every shadow and line of Bran, he couldn't stop seeing it.

But that didn't mean Bran had seen it.

"Listen." Max would have taken a step forward, but Virgil actually shoved him back. It took Max a moment to overcome his surprise at his diminutive teacher's fierce defense. It wasn't like Virgil to guard him so.

But Norman was far away, Bran was right here, and Virgil, like the rest of them, had become a changed person after Toyama.

"Bran." Max tried to keep his voice low and calm. "We're all on the same side here, right? Team Cap-Bearer? Team Anti-Bad-Guys?"

Bran's glower retreated infinitesimally. "I serve you, Mighty One. No one else."

"Okay, well, that's encouraging."

In the distance, there was a spattering of gunshots and many shouting voices.

Max shivered. _Please be okay, Normie. And any time you want to ride in like an action hero, that would be okay with me._

"Mighty One, you must come away. It is too dangerous here."

"Yeah, I'm not a big fan of all the shooting, either," Max said. "But we're not leaving Norman behind."

Bran's scowl deepened once more. "I will protect you."

_Yeah, but who's going to protect me from you?_ Saying that, however, would definitely not help matters, so Max said instead, "That's great, and I appreciate it. But we're a team. We stick together."

Virgil clacked his beak. "Do not mince words, Mighty One. You cannot sway him so easily from the influence which binds him."

Bran refocused on Virgil, and Max could practically see the rage flowing off the man like crashing waves of water.

"If you insult me again, I will not forgive so easily."

"There is no insult to speaking the truth," Virgil replied. "The evidence is undeniable. You have been corrupted by Locknarr, the ancient spirit of violence."

Max was watching Bran carefully for any reaction to that news, so it was Max who was surprised – because Bran was not.

"Does it matter?"

Max gulped. "Uh, _yeah_ it matters!"

"Why?"

"Hello! Giant, unkillable spirit of horrific stuff they can't even put in movies has a hold on your head? I pretty much always want to know about that!"

Bran gave a tiny shrug. "When gold falls from the sky, one does not ask what color the cloud."

"So you admit that Locknarr is influencing you?" Virgil asked.

"If to know the peril of the Mighty One is influence, then perhaps. But that is all."

Max held up a hand. "Okay. Back up. Tell me what happened." He blinked and gave his best puppy-dog eyes. "Please? I really need to know."

Virgil and Norman had gone mostly immune to Max's 'look how cute I am, don't you want to just give me everything?' look years ago. Bran, however, fell for it eagerly.

"My calling to Guardianship was as I told you," Bran said. "However, as I was recovering from the strike of power and the strangeness that infused me, I fell into a dreamscape. I saw you, Mighty One, and many of your most dire moments. I longed to help you. Then a pair of red, glowing eyes appeared and a voice addressed me. It asked if I would be willing to bargain, to ensure I could best protect and serve you."

"Red eyes. That's usually a red _flag_ ," Max whispered to Virgil.

"I asked what the bargain would entail. The voice stated that I would be able to gain a greater knowledge of the Mighty One, both past and future, in exchange for a price paid by pain."

Virgil spoke up. "Now, it is imperative that you recite for me the exact words of this bargain, Bran."

Bran was on the verge of telling Virgil where he could stuff his request, Max could tell, until Max cut him off with his puppy-dog look once more.

"Please?"

Bran nodded. "Very well. The precise words the voice spoke were these: I will open in your mind a window to knowledge that you may see and know more than what Fate has designed. This window will be powered by pain shared between you and the object of your seeking."

"And what was the price Locknarr extracted for this?" Virgil asked.

"He said that the price would be paid by the bloodline which had bound him."

Max looked down to Virgil. "Norman's the one who beat him both times, once with the villagers and the strangers, and then later when he showed up and you put him in the tree. Does Normie have any, I dunno, great-great-great grand-nephew-cousins six times removed I should know about?"

Virgil shook his head. "Norman's clan, all his blood family, died out millennia ago. Though some genetic traits survived into various peoples later on, there would not be enough of a direct ancestry for Locknarr to draw sufficient power for such a binding between you two."

Max sighed.

"Besides," Virgil said, "though Norman assisted in subduing Locknarr on both occasions, technically, it was not Norman who bound him either time. In the latter, it was I myself who retrieved the chains which we used to contain Locknarr in the ancient tree. In the former, though Norman was present, it was the original shaman who replaced the chains he had released so foolishly."

"So unless you've got any kids…" Max teased.

"I assure you, I do not."

"So we're looking for the shaman's great-great-however-many-greats grandkid."

And suddenly Max remembered his dream.

He remembered the chained bear whose skin was bleeding.

He remembered the attempt to help, and how the bear had rebuffed him.

He remembered how the chains had burned.

The two thoughts combined in Max's brain and he came up with a wild guess.

"Virg...the shaman who bound Locknarr...did he wear a bearskin by any chance?"

Virgil actually blinked at him. "Well, likely yes. That is, I was not present at the time, but we could ask Norman. However, such would almost certainly have been a part of the shaman's ritual attire, a means of gathering strength from the natural world to break the bonds of…" He trailed off. Peered at Max. "Why do you ask?"

"Because." Max knew. He was sure and he knew. "I think I found the shaman's bloodline."

And he pointed at Bran.

Virgil looked between them. "Oh, dear."

-==OOO==-

"And _stay_ down!" Norman yelled. It didn't help – the soldier was out cold and couldn't hear him anyway. But it made Norman feel better. Was there no end to these fighters and their insistence on keeping him away from the Mighty One?

His boy had run off at the sound of gunshots, and more had followed him. Norman was not worried – not yet – because he knew exactly what the Cap-Bearer was capable of handling even on his own. But worried or otherwise, he had a duty. He belonged at the side of the Mighty One, guarding him and backing him up.

And nothing, not Bran or anybody else, was going to change that. Not as long as Mighty Max himself asked Norman to stand there.

Norman shoved at three more soldiers, eyeing an opening in their ranks through which he could make his escape, when he heard it.

"Norman! Norman, help!"

Norman's blood froze. That was not the high, confident call of of the Cap-Bearer. That was the cry of a frightened boy, of panic, of desperation. That was the Mighty One afraid for his life.

"Mighty One!" Norman felt the shout rip out of his throat.

The people in his way no longer mattered. The forest in his way no longer mattered.

There was only the Mighty One.

Norman charged towards the small building, barely cognizant of those he flattened in his path. He burst out of the trees in time to see Bran rounding the building and three more soldiers climbing to their feet.

"Stop him!" one of them shouted, pointing at Norman.

And Norman suddenly remembered why Virgil had spent so long trying to teach him to keep from being lost in his anger, no matter the circumstances. Because Norman was unstoppable whether he was raging or not – but he was more easily blinded when berserk.

He didn't see that the weapon coming at him from the side wasn't just a baton. He didn't see the prongs that caught him on the bare skin of his right arm. Or, rather, he saw it, but he didn't, in the furiousness of his single-minded focus on reaching Max, recognize it.

The military-grade stunning rod hit him like a bolt of lightning.

Norman's muscles snapped tight, spasming without his control, and he might have lost his balance but for four or five other soldiers who grabbed onto him, holding him still while the cattle prod dug into his skin.

Voices chattered around him in a mix of English and other languages Norman didn't understand, and between the jolts of his brain in his skull he caught phrases like "disable" and "his fault" and "revenge." Norman fought the closing darkness and the shocks that robbed him of control, bending his mind to one truth and one truth only.

_The Mighty One needs me!_

Immobilized, he became aware of handcuffs being snapped around his wrists, all without ever letting up the burning current that ran through him. He knew that any lesser warrior would have been unconscious after such an electrocution, but he was Norman: Guardian and Viking. And his boy was frightened.

Zeus himself could not have come up with enough lightning to keep him from his charge.

How long he hung there, burning and nerves afire, he didn't know, but it didn't matter. Because in the end, the stunning rod's battery could not endure for as long as he could.

The instant the cattle prod died, so did Norman's paralysis.

With a roar, he ripped the handcuffs apart, bending and breaking them with a squeal of metal, and threw the gathered crowd of soldiers away from himself. One particularly bold soldier held another cattle prod in her hands and swung with it, intending to stop him again.

"Not this time," Norman told her.

He caught her wrist and yanked the weapon from her, turning it right around to devastating effect. Within moments, he had shocked each and every soldier still standing into insensibility. Then he leaped after Max.

"Mighty One! I'm coming!"

Norman rounded the building to see Bran looming over a densely bushy spot in the woods. He skidded through the underbrush, catching sight of his boy and Virgil – with the Lemurian standing protectively in front of the Cap-Bearer.

"Norman!" Max's voice lit up with relief as his Guardian sped into view. "Just in time!"

Norman, keeping one eye on Bran, moved through the undergrowth until he stood beside Max. "We got a problem here?" he asked.

"Put simply," Virgil said, "Bran is a blood descendant of the shaman who summoned Locknarr to battle on behalf of his people, and thus Locknarr has embedded his evil into Bran's bond with the Mighty One, twisting his mind and causing him to share in the Mighty One's suffering."

"Locknarr, huh?" Norman let a feral grin cross his face as he regarded Bran. "Figures."

"It is not entirely Bran's fault, Norman." Virgil often managed to be chiding even while sounding his most academic, and today was no exception. "If you recall, you yourself struggled to maintain your composure and perspective in the presence of such a powerful spirit."

"Don't remind me."

"So, what do we do now?" Max asked. Now that Norman was here and Bran was behaving more reasonably, he started to relax once more. He still felt the edge of something bloody and shivery between himself and the man who wanted to assume Guardianship, but it was easier for him to see Bran as someone he wanted to help, not fight.

"First," Virgil said, "we must return to my original home. I have a few last resources that I did not bother to relocate which might be of assistance. If those fail, a trip to the Arcana may be in order."

"All of us?" Max asked.

"No." Virgil shook his head. "It is too dangerous for Bran to travel with us through the portals. They are conduits of cosmic energy, Mighty One – the same which you carry within yourself. We cannot allow Locknarr even the slightest opportunity to reach through Bran to your powers as well."

He regarded Bran once more, then led Max past Norman and back up towards the building.

"Now, let us adjourn out into the sunlight so I can check my portal map in order that we may determine how to proceed."

Norman fell in with them, still watching Bran. He couldn't help but smirk at the other warrior.

"Looks like you're staying behind."

Bran snarled. "I will not abandon the Mighty One so easily!"

Having cleared the underbrush, Max spun, walking backwards beside Virgil with his hands raised calmingly to Bran. "Easy there. Nobody's abandoning anybody. We just have to take a little trip, okay? We'll be back soon."

Norman saw it coming just before it happened.

Bran shouted a denial and charged after them.

Norman grabbed for Max and Virgil and launched them clear of Bran, sending them sailing over the unconscious soldiers to land in the open area of the former mining camp. He had only just released them when Bran barreled into him, knocking him off balance.

Max picked himself up, having rolled just enough to avoid injury, and helped Virgil to his feet. "We better figure this out and fast! I think the commercial break just ended and we're back for the second half of the game!"

"Agreed." Virgil began reaching into his robes for the familiar portal map.

"Look out!" Max dragged at Virgil's arm, pulling them sideways. Bran was charging them with Norman at his heels.

Virgil squawked. "This is truly intolerable! I cannot solve such metaphysical problems under these conditions! Norman, you must keep him at bay long enough for us to retreat!"

"I'm working on it!" Norman yelled back.

"Virg, do we really have to leave him here?" Max asked, watching Norman and Bran wrestle one another across the rocky ground. "None of this is his fault!"

"I know, Mighty One. But, like a rabid dog, we must handle him carefully. His intentions towards you may be pure, but he is rapidly succumbing to Locknarr's influence. And the more enthralled he becomes, the greater a risk to your safety he presents."

"Not to mention Normie's," Max said, watching his Guardian take a nasty blow to the stomach.

"Precisely."

"Mighty One!"

Max and Virgil both looked up in time to see Norman just getting back to his feet – and Bran advancing on them. In moments, he was out of Norman's range and altogether too close for comfort.

"I have had enough!" Bran shouted. "The Mighty One comes with me _now_!"

Virgil interposed himself again, holding out both arms as if he could protect the boy with his own tiny frame. "Stop, Bran! Consider your choices!"

"You want to make all my choices for me!"

In spite of Bran's menacing, Virgil held firm. "I beseech you. The greater your anger, the more Locknarr is able to influence you. You have now committed violence against us, while before you merely threatened and postured. You must calm yourself so you can ease the pull of Locknarr upon your thinking."

Bran drew in a deep breath, visibly lowering his shoulders and releasing the tension in his arms.

"Perhaps you are right."

Max let out some tension of his own on an explosive breath. "Buddy, you don't know how good it is to hear you say that."

Bran smiled at Max and permitted the boy to move closer.

Then he _moved_.

In one gesture almost too fast for the eye to track, Bran caught one of Max's wrists in his hand and expertly twisted it up behind the boy, effectively immobilizing him. Before Max's cry of pain and surprise had even crawled out of his throat, Bran reached down with his other hand and seized Virgil's robes.

Norman bellowed a challenge and started to run.

Bran merely brandished the Lemurian, dangling him as Locknarr had done once, but much less forgivingly – Locknarr had not been in danger of strangling Virgil by his grip on his own robes as Bran was now.

"Stop where you are, or I will deprive the Mighty One of _two_ of his keepers today."

Max tried to twist in the grip that held him, wrenching his shoulder and forcing a low gasp of pain out. "Bran...stop it."

"Hold still, Mighty One," Norman said, sliding to a halt.

"If you struggle, you will be hurt," Bran said to Max without taking his eyes off Norman or reacting to Max's pain. "I will not willingly harm you, Mighty One, but I will always do what I must for your safety, no matter the cost."

"Norman!" Virgil coughed. "Forget me! Protect the Mighty One!"

Bran shook him until his beak rattled. "Quiet!"

Norman met Virgil's eyes and read the seriousness and concern in them. He'd known the Lemurian for thousands of years, and he knew that dire look. He'd seen it before, memorably in a very similar position, held by Skullmaster above a river of lava in a time that had been undone.

Virgil was resigned to whatever happened to him next. All he cared about was the Mighty One.

Norman could understand that.

But even as he shifted his foot to take up running again, Max barked out a cry of his own. "Don't, Norman!"

"Mighty One!" Virgil could barely get the title out around the shaking of Bran's fist and the increasing tightness around his throat.

Max gulped in a breath and relaxed into the tight hold which bound him. It made it easier for Bran to control him, but it eased up on the burning pain in his shoulder.

"Listen." He closed his eyes and willed himself calm. "Right now, Bran's just a victim. It's Locknarr who's doing all this. But if you fight him...if you make him fight…"

Max could feel the waiting silence in the man who held him.

"...If you do that, then Bran's gonna fight you. And it will be Bran himself, not Locknarr."

Max opened his eyes and looked across to Norman.

"If you make him our enemy, then he can't ever be our friend."

Norman shifted his weight. "Mighty One...I…"

Max knew his request was extremely unfair. He knew it bound Norman, knew it limited his options and kept him from doing precisely what the Guardian was supposed to do.

But Max also knew something about being influenced by evil. Knew what it felt like to have something crawling around inside his head until he could not tell his thoughts from the invading ones. Knew that the very first thing Skullmaster had taken from him in Toyama had been his agency, his ability to choose.

Knew that it was one of the most precious things he had ever retrieved for himself.

And Max needed to give Bran the same chance to choose.

"Bran, I want to help you. I want to make this right. You feel what I feel and I'm _sorry_." His voice shook on the word. "I'm _sorry_ because I _know_ how bad it's been. I can't...I can't tell you how sorry I am for what I put you through."

"You need not apologize, Mighty One."

"Either way." Max tried to angle himself so he could see Bran, but the unwavering grip on his arm wouldn't allow it. "I will help you fix this. I will help you break the link with Locknarr. Okay? But you have to be stronger than him. You have to fight him. You have to prove that we can trust you, that we can work with you. With _you_ , Bran. Not Locknarr."

Bran went very still for a long moment, long enough that Virgil was able to get his fingers around the collar of his robes and take some pressure off his airway.

Then a shiver ran through him.

"Do you really think you can break this link between us, Mighty One?" he asked.

Max nodded. "Virg'll figure it out. He always does."

Bran looked at the Lemurian. "Is this true?"

"Given enough time and research, I believe I can deduce a method to remove Locknarr's influence from you, which would also liberate you from your connection to the Mighty One, yes."

Bran nodded. "I see."

In an explosive motion reminiscent of Norman's own from moments before, he swung Max around and flung him out and away. Max gave a surprised yelp and would have tumbled, except Norman darted to him and caught him before he fell.

Bran looked at Virgil with a burning expression.

"I will not permit you to destroy that which binds me to the Mighty One's fate. And I will no longer allow you to keep him from me."

And using both hands, he smashed Virgil's helpless body into the rocky ground. Virgil fell instantly still, limbs tangled.

"No!" Max cried.

But his roar was nothing to Norman's, who barreled forward and crashed into Bran, forcing him away from where Virgil lay so very crumpled.

"You're gonna pay for that!" Norman swung hard enough to break stone, and very nearly broke Bran's jaw.

But Max ignored them, letting them fight while he raced to Virgil's side. He never knew that he was speaking aloud, begging anything that was listening, "Don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead…"

Max's heart was in his throat as he reached for Virgil's beak. He knew the Lemurian's pulse could be read in basically the same places as human's, but after the throttling Virgil had just endured, Max couldn't bring himself to even touch Virgil's probably-bruised neck.

"Don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead, _please Virg_ , don't be dead…"

The air that trickled in and out of Virgil's beak over Max's fingers was warm and Max could have cried.

Next, he gently checked Virgil's head and neck, not moving him, but feeling for damage. His fingers came upon an enormous lump growing on the side of Virgil's head where he must have flinched or else he would have landed face-first. And if Max was any judge – and he wasn't sure he should be, but he was here and on his own – Virgil would have a massive case of whiplash when he woke up. But his head was attached to his neck still, the neck was intact, and when he tugged on various feathers, Virgil flinched.

Unconscious, hurt, and probably ticked off when he woke up, but not broken. Not killed.

"Look out!"

Max dove to shield Virgil with his body as Bran flew through the air within inches of them. Norman stormed after him, expression dark and focused.

"Can you _not_ make things worse, please?" Max yelled.

Norman was too caught up in his rage to respond.

Max glanced around. Being in the middle of the open area meant Virgil was vulnerable right at ground zero of the Guardian War of Chest-Thumping Fury that was going on, and Max couldn't really protect him from a stampede by the two who were working on pounding each other into dust. He spotted a pile of mostly intact crates which had clearly seen better days but were on the edge of the clearing.

"Sorry, Virg," he whispered.

Then Max grabbed Virgil's hands and dragged him into the shelter of the crates, trying not to listen as Bran and Norman smashed their way through most of the camp. He pulled Virgil as gently as he could, but he knew he was hurting his friend and he hated it.

As soon as Virgil was concealed behind the crates, Max pulled off his jacket and piled it under the Lemurian's head.

"Just stay put, Virg. I'll be back as soon as I can."

He ran out in time to see Norman and Bran at each other's throats, on the other end of the clearing towards the area Max hadn't really had a chance to explore; there was lots of mining equipment and several open, abandoned mine entrances scattered across the ground. Norman was up and fighting, but he was clearly winded. It reminded Max of seeing his Guardian during the battle with the Conqueror.

Bran slugged Norman hard enough for the Viking to stagger, and drew his pistol.

Max had no idea what he was going to do, but he had to do something.

"Bran! Stop!"

Bran looked up. "I do this for you, Mighty One."

To Max's horror, Bran pointed the gun at him.

Norman screamed in rage and dove for Bran.

And Bran caught him in midair and threw him aside, as he had clearly been planning; he had used the distraction of the Mighty One's safety against Norman, the one attack against which Norman had no defense at all.

Norman rolled along the ground once, then disappeared down an open mine shaft.


	6. A Reason to Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week is the last chapter of this one, and that'll be the end of Mighty Max stuff from me for a little while. I have LOTS of ideas, folks, but next year will be entirely something else. When will the next FIAG go up? I have no idea. But it will come one day or another. I promise.
> 
> I'm so glad you've enjoyed this run. I know it means I'm taking FIAG in a slightly new direction, but hang with me – I know where I'm going. We'll get there eventually.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Enjoy!

"Norman!"

Max darted to the side of the mineshaft, watching with wide eyes as Norman clawed at the sides of the mine shaft, struggling to slow his descent.

"This ends – now."

Bran lifted his sidearm. Without anywhere to go, Norman was an easy target. A shot now would end the debate over Guardianship forever.

"No!"

Bran rocked with the weight that hit him from the side as he fired, the off-target bullet cracking into stone and wood. Without quite dropping the gun, Bran grabbed the Mighty One by an outstretched arm, his grip tight enough to bruise.

Bran's rage engulfed him.

" _Stop fighting me!_ "

He swung the pistol, only remembering to pull up at the last instant before he struck a killing blow. As it was, he smashed into the boy's unprotected face hard enough to slice the pale cheek open where it tore against the rough grip of the gun.

Max dropped like a stone.

Bran tucked the pistol into his belt, then cupped his hand to his jaw, wincing. "This is your fault, Mighty One! You made me do this to us!"

He looked up to assess the situation. Virgil was down, unmoving, partially sheltered behind a pile of damaged crates. Norman had yet to emerge from the shadows of the mineshaft. Bran cursed quietly; Max's distraction had cost him his one clean shot at the former Guardian.

On the other hand, Norman could be hundreds of feet down now, and with luck he had landed badly. It would have to be enough.

Bran scooped the Mighty One from the ground and tossed him over his shoulder. He strode to where Virgil was crumpled, looking very much like a bird hit by a car. Bran rooted through his robes until he came up with the portal scroll which he tucked into his vest. Then, with a little smile, he wrapped a nearby length of barbed wire around the stupid chicken, binding him mercilessly.

"I imagine this was not in your prophecy," he said as he dragged Virgil across the ground. Then he tied the tail end of the barbed wire to one of the remaining supports for the mine shaft and kicked the Lemurian down into the hole after Norman.

"Be grateful I leave you alive because the Mighty One might need you someday. Maybe this will teach you something: if you interfere with me again, I won't only leave you unconscious."

And Bran took off with Max held securely in his grip, feeling a deep satisfaction that was better than any peace even the Mighty One could have offered him.

-==OOO==-

Norman was so enraged he could barely _breathe_.

"I'm gonna hit you so hard every person you've ever _met_ will bleed!"

His low growl echoed around him in the narrow mine shaft, reverberating over and over both up and down.

He was climbing up the unstable walls with a speed that would put a spider to shame, but the tiny point of light above which was his destination still seemed mockingly far away.

And every moment he was down here, the Mighty One was alone.

The echo of Norman's gravely threat took on a new tone. It was several moments before Norman realized that he was hearing more than just his own voice thrown back to him.

After thousands of years, Norman would know that voice anywhere.

"Virgil!"

An infuriating eternity of climbing later, he could finally see Virgil dangling down the mine shaft like a broken puppet. But it wasn't until he was almost on top of him that Norman could see the blood seeping around the Lemurian's feathers everywhere the barbed wire he was wrapped in stabbed into his unprotected flesh.

Norman forced himself to stop. He wanted to howl his rage and erupt like a volcano to rain savagery down on the world above, but he had to tread gently. Virgil was hurt and helpless. Norman could not, would not be an additional source of pain to his oldest friend.

"Virgil."

Virgil moaned slightly, his eyelids fluttering.

"Try not to move. I'll cut you loose."

"M-Mighty...One?"

Norman bit his tongue so hard it bled. "Hold still."

Norman balanced himself with his feet on opposite walls of the mine shaft parallel with Virgil's position. He drew his sword and considered the barbed wire which was biting deeply into Virgil's clothing and feathers and was snagged in his skin. He could make the cut, he knew that, but it wouldn't free him as easily as if he had been bound with rope.

No matter what Norman did, he had no choice but to hurt Virgil more in order to save him.

_I'm going to kill Bran. Even if he has done nothing to the Mighty One. I will kill him for what he has done here._

_And if he_ _ has _ _done something to the Mighty One…_

Norman couldn't even finish the thought in his mind. The only thing holding him together was the hope that the deranged soldier posing as a Guardian wouldn't hurt the boy he had sworn to protect. If Bran went back on that promise…

Virgil groaned again and Norman made himself focus.

Norman spun Virgil slowly, tracking each pass of the barbed wire around his body. He considered every angle before deciding on a pair of spots he thought were slightly better than anywhere else. It would still hurt, and it would still aggravate many of Virgil's wounds, but Norman didn't think it would be too dangerous.

Before he could doubt himself, he swiped the tip of his sword up one side and down the other of his friend's body, cutting the barbed wire into pieces and slicing the length that kept Virgil dangling. Then Norman snagged the collar of Virgil's robes before he could fall.

Many of the now-severed pieces of barbed wire remained where they had been stuck, caught in cloth and feathers and flesh. Norman slid his sword back into its scabbard and carefully worked them loose, one by one. Only when the last of the wire was gone did Norman shift his grip so he could pull Virgil against his chest where he could protect him from being scraped against the walls of the mine shaft.

"N...Norman?"

"Easy, Virgil. We're almost out of here."

"Norman...the Mighty One…"

Norman hissed a breath and forced himself to climb as fast as he could the last few yards to the top. But he didn't need to break into the sunlight to know what he would see.

Bran was gone. And so was Max.

Virgil blinked against the sudden light, shifting in Norman's hold and twitching as new pains made themselves felt from his many shallow wounds. "Norman." His voice was not so thready now as he woke himself up. "What happened to the Mighty One?"

"I...I failed. He's gone."

Virgil shook himself, touching feathered hands to the worst of the cuts which bled through his robes. But his eyes were clearing now; Virgil was responding to the plight of their charge with a desperation matched only by Norman's own.

"We must find them. Quickly."

Norman nodded and set Virgil on the ground. Then he read the many tracks in the dirt, noticing with a sinking despair the place where Max had clearly fallen and had been lifted to be carried away. He followed the boot-prints deep into the woods only to come upon a spot where a jeep had been parked.

"They're not on foot anymore," he called over his shoulder.

Virgil made his way to Norman's side, masterfully composed considering the amount of pain he must be feeling. "From the appearance of the unsettled dirt and other indicators, I would speculate that they are not more than twenty minutes ahead of us."

"But they can move faster than we will."

"Then we must move faster still."

-==OOO==-

Max forced his eyes open just as the thick forest disappeared from above him. It took him a moment to blink the sudden sunlight away so he could make out the scrubby, rolling foothills racing by. It took him two more minutes to realize that he was buckled into the passenger seat of a jeep that was running across the steep hills at speeds Max wouldn't have tried in a tank.

"You're awake."

Max looked over at Bran, lifting a hand to his cheek as his last conscious moments came back to him; he found his skin hot, swollen, and tender to the touch – and he could feel a thin layer of dried blood.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," Bran said, eyes back on the lack of road ahead of them. "You didn't leave me any choice. It won't happen again."

_Fat chance of that_ , Max thought. But he didn't dare voice it aloud. "Where are we going?"

"For now, I just wanted to put some distance between us and...any danger."

_Between us and Virgil and Normie_ , Max corrected internally. He felt cold bloom in his chest. _If you hurt them...if you did anything to them…_

_But we wouldn't be running away from them if they were both dead._ That was a comforting thought, for a certain definition of "comforting," anyway. Even more helpful was the next one: _You couldn't kill Norman in a million years._

"I have this." Bran plucked a familiar scroll from his pocket and handed it over; Max was actually surprised that he wasn't restrained in any way. Wasn't that what bad guys normally did?

_But Bran doesn't think he's a bad guy. He thinks he's my Guardian._

_I can use that._

"You can read it, I believe?" Bran asked.

"Yeah," Max said, taking the scroll and opening it.

"So you just have to find us an appropriate portal and we'll be out of here for good."

_Hmm. Not a whole lot of good options. Two to the middle of the ocean, one to Portugal. That one's someplace in Brazil but it's marked like it isn't viable. Maybe it opens into piranha-infested waters. Oh! And…_

"What do you think? Is there a destination you prefer?"

Max looked up. Bran had slowed the jeep so they were now just rolling easily with the slope of the hillside.

"Yeah. I think we can make this one work." He did some mental math about where they were and which way was north. "It's less than a mile south of here."

"Perfect." Bran adjusted the jeep's heading. He waited a moment before he spoke again, more quietly. "I was starting to fear you would never come around to seeing things my way. I'm glad you're finally in agreement with me."

_Not a chance. If being stuck inside Skullmaster couldn't break me, there's nothing you can do to get me. Brainwashing wouldn't even stick, and you're not that smart._

_Here's hoping I am._

"I'm still pretty mad at you," Max said. _Some honesty will help sell this._ "Norman and Virgil were my friends. I didn't want you to hurt them, no matter what."

Bran nodded. "I suppose that is why you are the true hero. Noble and virtuous. However, I must warn you, if your safety is compromised, I'll do whatever I have to – to anyone."

"Hopefully it won't come to that."

Max was going to say something else when his instincts blared a sudden and very welcome warning. A moment later, a familiar figure shot out of the tree-line from up ahead, apparently surfing downhill on what looked like one of the sides of a broken crate from the mining camp.

"Hold on!" Bran ordered.

Max gripped the side of the jeep as Bran turned the wheel crazily.

"What are you doing?" he cried.

"I'm removing this obstacle from our path. Permanently!"

Bran angled the jeep and headed straight for where Norman, Virgil clinging to his shoulders, had leaped off his improvised surfboard and was charging them head-on, bellowing a furious war-cry.

"No!"

Max did the only thing he could think of – he unbuckled his seat-belt, dove across Bran, and yanked at the steering wheel with all his might.

The jeep pitched sideways. The steep hill they were speeding across was covered with long grasses, and the wheels began to slide.

"Mighty One!" Norman called out.

The jeep crashed onto its side, throwing both occupants clear. Max rolled with the impact, feeling something burn in his shoulder where he hit the rocky ground. But he managed to avoid being crushed by the vehicle.

All his practice tumbling and doing gymnastics came back to him in one moment of clarity – Max had learned to pay attention not just to the whirl of his body, but his surroundings. He could tell that Bran was sliding not far from him, also out of range of the jeep, but something familiar had popped out of Max's keeping and was airborne between them: the Firebird's feather.

Max stuck an arm out to grab it, but only succeeded in batting it farther down the hill.

The attempt threw off his momentum and Max lost what little control he had. Even as Bran broke out of his own fall to get to his feet, Max tumbled into a helpless slide down the steep, unforgiving hillside. Max rolled, bumping and bashing into every rock and thorny shrub in his path. He scrabbled for something, anything he could grab to slow his fall, but nothing he grabbed onto held his weight long enough.

_Won't be too long before there's a rock that's really going to ruin my day_ , he thought idly.

And then there was a flash of light.

Suddenly Max was in freefall.

And then he wasn't.

"Mighty One!"

Max blinked his eyes and found himself suspended in the air high enough to see Norman and Virgil and Bran spread out below looking like pieces on a chessboard. There was a curious warmth radiating from above him. He craned his neck upwards.

Plumage the color of the setting sun greeted him.

"You're the Firebird!"

A bird's head descended on a long neck to look at Max where he dangled from her talons. Her eyes were the dark of a starless night and her head was crowned with a crest like a fiery tiara. Her beak was the same burnished bronze of her talons, and the delicate feathers around her face were the pale dusky pink of dawn that faded into luminous gold and orange and scarlet along her back and breast.

"You know, you're a lot bigger than I was imagining," Max told her. He felt like a mouse in the clutches of a hawk, but even so, he was not afraid.

She crooked her head at him.

"You remind me of White Blaze," he said. "You're a spirit, right? I'm glad you're friendly."

The Firebird chirped at him, then turned and began to fly for the ground – some distance from where Norman and Virgil and Bran were still staring into the sky.

Max wasn't sure if he was set on the ground during the landing or after; one moment he was blinking against the wind of flight and the next his feet were on the grass and a giant wing was folded up around him.

And a giant head was bobbing close to him, the beak nuzzling at him.

"Hey! That tickles!"

The Firebird resolutely caught one of Max's hands in her beak, tugging at it slightly before releasing it. When she did, however, Max saw that the abrasions from his dangerous fall were fading. He held still and she whistled in approval before setting to work on the rest of his skin. The more she preened him, the more his bruises and cuts disappeared.

"Thank you."

She bobbed her head. Then she pivoted and lowered her head in invitation.

Max grinned. "Don't have to ask me twice!" And he clambered up to sit on the Firebird's broad shoulders, his feet dangling down on either side of her neck. He noticed one feather there, right where he sat astride her, which was slightly discolored, as if it had cooled somehow; he knew how she had found him, and that her feather was safe again, even if nobody else was.

"No, Mighty One!" Bran yelled. "You must not trust such a monster!"

"The only _monster_ here is _you_!" Norman bellowed at him.

As the Firebird returned to the air, the pair of warriors below charged one another. Max looked down with a lurch of fear.

"I have to do something!"

The Firebird trilled at him.

"I'm hoping that means you're going to help?"

She chirped.

"Okay. First, can we pick up Virgil? He looks pretty hurt and I don't want him in the middle of this."

The Firebird whistled and banked, wheeling in the air and diving back to the ground. Max tried to hold onto her neck and shoulders with his legs rather than pull on the delicate feathers that tickled his hands and smelled like sunrise.

"Virgil! Jump!"

Virgil extended his own feathered hands as the Firebird swooped low. Max clenched his knees around her muscular neck and leaned as far as he could.

He caught Virgil's hands and swung him up onto the Firebird's back as she sailed up into the sky once more.

"Mighty One!" Virgil managed to get his grip around the boy's arms and he examined him with a single, worried glance. "Are you all right?"

"I am, but you're sure not." Now that Virgil was up close, Max could see just how many cuts there were across hands and neck – and how many gashes in his robes showed blood. Max swiped one hand against the crown of Virgil's head and it came away red. "What did he do to you?"

"It does not matter." Virgil was already looking past Max to the ground where Norman and Bran were exchanging fierce blows. "It is what he will do to any of us. Mighty One, we must find some way to stop this."

"Yeah, I got that part." Max flinched as Norman took a punch across the face that would have shattered a lesser man. "But how?"

"Honestly, I am at a loss as well. This is...entirely unexpected."

Somehow, Virgil's confusion steadied Max. Maybe because he knew he wasn't alone in facing this problem, alone in his doubts. Or maybe just because any time Virgil didn't know practically everything in the world, it became Max's job to fill in the gaps.

Max arranged Virgil behind himself and leaned low over the Firebird's neck.

"I don't want you to get hurt, and I don't want any more of your feathers to be taken, either. But I really could use some backup. If that's okay."

The Firebird gave a gentle trill.

"What are you thinking, Mighty One?" Virgil asked.

"I'm not sure yet. Just...hang with me until I figure it out?"

Virgil squeezed Max's shoulder reassuringly. "Always, Mighty Max."

That trust warmed Max even more than the Firebird had. "Okay." He turned back to her. "Can you help me separate them? Without hurting either of them?"

The Firebird chirped and dove for the combatants, crashing for the ground like a falling meteor.

Norman and Bran were forced to break apart and duck. They might have jumped right back into their fight, but the Firebird spun and returned, talons extended and tail literally flaming, driving them to either side.

She landed between them. Max gave Virgil a small shove, indicating he should remain on the Firebird's back, then slid down to face Bran.

"Mighty One!" Bran swiped a fist across his nose which was trickling blood from Norman's blows. "Come away! Quickly!"

"Bran, you _have_ to listen to me. I'm sorry this happened to you, I'm sorry for everything you've gone through for me, but you can't keep fighting with Norman or Virgil! I won't let you hurt them anymore!"

"Hurt _them_?" Bran roared. " _They_ have hurt _you_! That must be answered for! With _blood_!"

Max was vaguely aware of Norman approaching from behind, but he was glad his Guardian was staying on the other side of the Firebird for now. He was equally glad that there was one vast, shining wing folded slightly around him, offering shelter and protection without preventing him from taking a step towards Bran.

"Bran." Max shook his head. "You're on the same side as us. As all of us. We're here to fight Skullmaster and everything else that needs fighting. Not each other."

Bran growled. "Don't lie to me, Mighty One. I can feel your heart. I can feel your pain, your fear. I will eradicate every threat to you. You _must_ let me be the one to guard you."

Max took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and reached up, lifting the Cap from his head. "Virg? Just for a minute?"

He could feel Virgil's piercing expression, the unasked questions. But Virgil leaned down to take the Cap from his outstretched fingers.

"Mighty One." Norman's grumble was a low warning.

"Stay back, Normie. You have to let me do this."

And Max crossed the distance to face Bran. He stopped just out of the big man's reach and fixed his eyes on Bran's face.

"How can you be the one to protect me when you're the reason I hurt? How can you be my Guardian when I'm scared of you?"

He didn't ask it accusingly or angrily – but earnestly.

Bran recoiled with more force than he had from any of Norman's hits.

"I? I, Mighty One?"

"Can't you tell? I'm out of Norman's range and I don't have the Cap. I'm helpless."

"You could never be helpless, Mighty One," Bran said, almost as reflex.

"But I'm vulnerable. To _you_. And if you can feel my fear and pain, what does that tell you?"

Bran shook his head. "You have been poisoned by the Lemurian against me. You have never given me a fair chance to prove my worth."

Max's calm shattered and he balled up his fists, hunching as if to protect himself or to strike out at him.

"I _did_! And you used it to _kill_!"

"What I did was necessary! For you!"

"And you'd hurt me, too, right?" Max shot back. "Tell me it was for my own good?"

"I do not _want_ to hurt you!"

"You already did!"

They were both shouting, breath heaving, eyes locked.

And just as quickly, cold calm dumped into Max's chest. He blinked, a hand crawling up to rest over his heart. He whispered, "It must be contagious. You're becoming just like him."

Bran frowned. "What did you say?"

Max looked up at him. "When we fought Locknarr the first time...Norman...he…" Max swallowed. "Locknarr got under his skin. Made him do things...want to do things...he never would've otherwise."

Max took another step forward.

"Locknarr is influencing you."

"Locknarr gave me a gift," Bran said.

"No." Max reached up and laid his small hand on Bran's chest. "Locknarr is taking everything away from you."

Bran stared at the hand, at the boy, frozen in Max's gaze and his power.

"Let us help you. Please, Bran."

Bran blinked. "No. It is I who must serve you, Mighty One." He clapped his big hand over Max's to pin the boy in place.

Max stared at him, not afraid at all, but suddenly very, very sad.

"I can't let you. Not unless we can remove Locknarr from this." His voice did not shake, though it deepened with feeling. "You're a liability to me right now."

Bran grunted. "You have been blinded by those who have failed you. I will teach you otherwise." He shifted his iron grip to Max's wrist.

Max sighed. "I'm sorry, Bran. I'm really sorry."

"As am I."

Bran turned and started to tug Max away.

But even as Norman was giving a cry and starting to run, the Firebird took to the air. She dropped, screeching, to where Max stood resisting Bran's pull.

Bran looked up at the flaming, screaming bird whose talons were exposed and he caught Max up protectively. Even as he rolled to dodge the Firebird, he flung Max sideways out of danger.

Max rolled with the momentum and came up with a hand in the air. "Virgil!"

Virgil spun the Cosmic Cap into a draft of warmth from the Firebird's tail who continued to harry Bran. Max snagged the Cap one-handed as it started to glow.

He took off running at an oblique angle to where the Firebird and Bran battled, Norman circling protectively but staying away from the fiery tail and flashing beak of the enormous spirit bird. An instant later, more light and warmth spilled over the hillside as Max opened a portal – the one he had chosen when studying Virgil's scroll in the jeep.

Max slid against the scrubby ground, positioning himself just to the side of the open portal, and he flung a hand towards the Firebird.

"Now!"

The Firebird raised her wings and gave a powerful flap.

And Bran was knocked from his feet and sent flying in the direction of the portal.

"Mighty One!" Bran stretched out, tumbling uncontrollably but reaching for where Max was prone and could not move away without closing the portal.

Max flinched, wondering if his plan was about to backfire and he would be carried through the portal and to the middle of nowhere alone with Bran – the one thing he had been trying to avoid all along.

And then Norman was there, shielding him, curling around him protectively.

Bran's fingers scraped off Norman's shoulder and the would-be Guardian vanished into the portal with a furious, broken cry.

Max willed the portal shut.

He let out a shuddering breath. "Thanks, big guy."

Norman sat up and gave Max a hand to his feet. "Any time, Mighty One."

The Firebird gave a little trill and approached, Virgil moving gingerly beside her. Max noticed that the worst of his wounds were healed, but he still had many cuts and scrapes.

"Thank you for your help, too," Max said. The Firebird ducked her great head and Max stroked the soft, downy feathers that hummed with warmth and light. "Without you, we might have…"

"You would have found a way, Mighty One," Virgil said. "You either would have broken Locknarr's hold on him or you would have manipulated him through a portal without harming him."

Max closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the Firebird's warm neck. "I'm glad you're so sure. 'Cause I wasn't."

He let out a breath and turned back.

"But there is one thing I'm sure of." He looked up at Norman and smiled. "I hope you are, too."

Norman nodded, grave but steady. "Yes, Mighty One."

"Good."

The Firebird chirped and swiped her head against Norman's cheek once, then repeated the action to Max, who laughed at the beak which tugged playfully on his hair sticking out beneath the Cap.

"Take care out there, and try not to lose any more feathers!"

The Firebird whistled and took to the air. As she rose into the sky, she seemed to grow both larger in size and more undefined, as though she were transforming into a cloud of indistinct light. By the time she was cresting the mountains, she was no more than a mirage.

Max looked between Norman and Virgil. There was so much to say, so much to think, so much to worry about.

But he swallowed it back and shook his head.

"Let's go home."


	7. Win or Lose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my last Mighty Max chapter for a while. I've got lots more stuff to come, and I've actually plotted out a path that will go for…3 novels? Maybe 4? Kinda depends. Timing is in question, but the continuation of FIAG is not.
> 
> Thanks, all of you. It's always a nice feeling to return to Mighty Max, which is kind of my original and home fandom. I travel around, but I always find my way back here, and you always keep the lights on for me.
> 
> Enjoy!

It took the better part of two hours for Max, Norman, and Virgil to locate the portal map halfway down the hill where it had been flung when the jeep was overturned, hike back to the mining camp, and retrieve their belongings. The camp was deserted when they got there, only the scuffing of the low grasses and dirt evidence that there had ever been an entire unit of mercenaries unconscious or worse lying about.

Max was quietly relieved – he was _not_ up for another fight right now.

With an eleven-hour time difference between Armenia and home, Max opted not to call his mom since she was even less of a morning person than he, though she kept what she called 'responsible' hours. But when the trio of heroes emerged from the final portal and began the walk through the small town to Max's house under the light of streetlamps, dawn not yet approaching, Max didn't want to add his mom's crankiness to everything else.

'Everything else' being the stilted silence that had fallen.

As they rounded the last corner and approached the house on the quiet street, without even a morning newspaper delivery kid out so early on a Sunday, Max led the way around to the backyard. But instead of entering through the kitchen door, he wandered to Norman's lean-to and sat on the huge stone that was the Guardian's bed.

Virgil and Norman followed – of course they did – and watched him closely.

Max pulled his camping backpack off and let it drop to the ground, head down.

"Mighty One?" Virgil asked. He set down his own backpack and hopped up to sit beside the boy.

Max swallowed thickly and drew the Cosmic Cap from his head, studying it the light that extended all the way to the rough shelter from the small flood-lamp on the back of the house; Max's mom always left the outside lights on when her son was out and about.

Virgil assessed the boy. Max was not shaking, nor was he visibly struggling with deep emotion. But he was regarding the Cap in his hands with a look he wore when he was upset with it, with all his destiny portended. The Mighty One had emerged unharmed in the end, but not untouched by events.

Virgil, on the other hand, still felt slightly dizzy; though the Firebird had greatly reduced the effects of his injuries, including most of the concussion due to the lump on his cranium, she had not been able to fully heal him – so his many cuts and abrasions ached uncomfortably. Virgil idly pulled at where some dried blood was matting the feathers on the back of his off hand.

The motion drew Max's attention.

"After we get some breakfast, you're making an appointment with that doctor," Max said.

"Veterinarian," Virgil corrected automatically.

"Whatever. I want him to take a look and make sure you're okay."

There was something so weary, so infinitely tired in his tone that Virgil felt a prickle of alarm. "Mighty One, are you – ?"

Max interrupted, tipping his face up to regard Norman. "And _you're_ calling Peter and making an appointment for yourself."

The flat affect of the command was even more worrying.

Norman gave a single, sharp nod of assent.

Max nodded back, then returning his gaze to the Cap. He let out a rush of breath, not quite a sigh, not quite a defeat. Then he shook his head, as if to himself more than either of them.

"What a mess."

Virgil took heart from that small statement. It told him his boy was willing to talk about whatever was chasing itself around in his head and his heart. So he huffed a breath of his own.

"Indeed."

"We didn't...miss anything, did we?" Max asked then. "Some obvious sign that Bran was teetering on the edge of the deep end?"

Virgil clacked his beak shut before he could respond. "You knew, Mighty One. The instant we entered his presence, the moment we arrived on that mountain, you could feel the wrongness. As did I, eventually. But, even so...no. We could not have known at the start how badly circumstances had been twisted."

"I can still feel it, you know. Like a tug in my chest. He's out there, listening. Feeling everything." Max made half of a not-nice smile. "Probably pretty mad at me."

"Mighty One." Virgil made his tone more firm. "What has happened is no one's fault. Not mine and not yours. If there is fault, it lies somewhere between Locknarr, Bran, and fate." Then he deflated slightly. "Though I do owe you an apology. Both of you."

Norman raised an eyebrow. Max simply waited.

"I did not know when we arrived who we would find, but upon meeting Bran, I began to have my suspicions. There was a...call it a magical signature, if you will, though that term is entirely inaccurate but will do for the purposes of illustration."

"You knew about Locknarr?" Norman asked.

"No. But I surmised that he was the second Guardian." Virgil met Norman's gaze. "And I am sorry for never telling you that there could be one."

Norman snorted. "If everything had gone according to the original plan, I wouldn't have known about it anyway."

"Yes, well, thanks to the Mighty One, that particular plan was rather spectacularly undone."

"Good thing, too." Norman's rumbling voice held warmth and warning in about equal measure, and both comforted Virgil. Whatever else he was feeling, Norman was back to his usual self when it came to his staunch and dauntless loyalty to the Mighty One.

He might have come perilously close to rescinding his Oath and letting Bran take over Guardianship, but that half-growl told Virgil that Norman would not even consider it now. Or, indeed, ever again.

"I apologize to you as well, Mighty One," Virgil said, returning his gaze to the boy. "I gave you my word I would keep no secrets, but I kept this one."

"Eh, forget it, Virg. You didn't actually _know_ I had a second Guardian out there all this time, right?"

"No, I did not."

"And when you started thinking something was up, you didn't want to freak us all out until you'd at least talked to the guy about it. I get that. I mean, maybe it would have been easier if we'd known, but...that might have made everything worse, too. I understand." He swallowed. "You were trying to do your best for us. That's...that's always got to be okay."

"Mighty One." Norman inched closer, not so close as to crowd Max, but close enough for his presence to be comforting. "Tell us what is wrong."

"I dunno if 'wrong' is the right word for it." Max almost chuckled, still staring at his Cap. "It's just...a lot, you know? Finding out that there's some guy who's been feeling everything I have for months now. Finding out that he's got an ancient, unkillable spirit of violence in his head. Finding out that his life is ruined because of me."

"This is _not_ your fault," Virgil said again. "Fate laid the path before Bran, but he chose to embrace Locknarr's bargain. And he continues to choose it." Virgil sighed. "In fact, unless he decides to repudiate Locknarr entirely, it may not even be possible to break the connection between you."

That brought Max's head up. "Seriously?"

"Even you cannot interfere with his free will, Mighty One. Chance and fate chose Bran for your second Guardian, but Bran himself chose to give his own power over to Locknarr. For as long as he continues to choose to embrace evil, we cannot free him from it."

"Like on Tamoori's island with the villagers that Skullmaster turned into lizard people," Max said.

"Precisely."

" _Great_." Max drew in a long breath. "Hey, Normie?"

"Yes, Mighty One?"

"Don't...don't ever let anybody tell you that you're not my real Guardian again. Okay? Unless you don't want to be."

Norman crouched low so he could meet Max's eyes evenly. "Never gonna happen. You're stuck with me, Mighty One. To the end."

Max nodded. "I just...you weren't sure, and…"

"And I am sorry for that." Norman waited until Max was meeting his gaze fully. "Any choice to step down as your Guardian would have been for _your_ sake, Mighty One. If you were better off without me."

Max gave him a tired smile. "Not a chance, big guy."

"That's why I'm still here."

"And, for the record, I'm _really_ glad you can't feel everything," Max said. "I'm pretty sure it wouldn't help."

Virgil tilted his head. "Why do you think so?"

Max fidgeted with the Cap. "I'm...I'm okay. I'm not...I'm not like I was after Toyama. This isn't that. And...I know neither of you wants me to get hurt. I know that."

Virgil and Norman exchanged a tight, barely-there glance, quick as lightning and twice as powerful speaking volumes of their shared feeling on that matter.

"But...I don't want you to be hurt, either. It's...it's bad enough that sometimes other people get hurt, people in the middle who don't deserve world-hijacking llamas tearing down their farms or whatever. But I...I signed up for this. Being the Cap-Bearer. Being the Mighty One."

He sighed.

"And sometimes...sometimes saving the world hurts. You've...you've already been through enough for me. You don't need that stuff, too."

Virgil opened his beak to argue, but shut it at a motion from Norman. He knew they would both gladly, willingly, eagerly take on the pain for their young charge, for the boy who held the fate of the world in his hands – and who meant everything worth anything to them both. He didn't want the Mighty One to think it was his job to protect them, not when it was _their_ job to protect _him_.

But Norman was right. This was something the Mighty One needed, a warrior's pride and a hero's burden, and they had to let him carry it if he wished.

At least as a thought exercise. In reality, they would _never_ let him shoulder pain in their places.

So Virgil put a hand on Max's shoulder. "Do not fear. We will find a way to release Bran from Locknarr's influence. Though we cannot undo the rest of his fate. He is your second Guardian, no matter what else happens."

"Well." Max rolled his shoulders slightly, as if adjusting the mental weight upon them. "I'm not jumping off that bridge until we get to it. Which sounds like it might be a while."

Max looked up and a slant of relief was visible in his eyes.

"But at least I figure if I _do_ jump off that bridge, it'll only be because you're both with me."

Norman grinned. "No bridge-jumping without me, Mighty One."

Virgil straightened up and spoke in his most prim, severe tone. "If all your friends jumped off bridges, must you really be so foolish as well?"

Norman snorted at him. "Sure. Sounds fun."

Max chuckled. "We have got to work on your definition of fun, big guy."

"Maybe _you_ need to work on _yours_ , Mighty One."

"Hey! I taught you how to play video games!"

"Obviously we need to jump off more bridges to make the exchange fair."

Max started to laugh in earnest. "Worst trade _ever_ , Normie."

Norman waggled his eyebrows and kept grinning.

And Virgil smiled at them both. At their easy camaraderie and oddly similar sense of humor and the way they could both play dumb or innocent with the other and switch to shrewd and devious in the blink of an eye. At the trust that bound them, trust that their favorite partner in banter would always be there with the right quip or joke.

Virgil didn't regret that he didn't share in it the same way. He was far older than both of them by many millennia, and he had never been one for such playfulness, except in rare moments. No, he preferred that they had one another for this, leaving him to be their straight-man, the object of most of their teasing and the fertile ground in which they grew their in-jokes.

Virgil didn't mind setting himself ever so slightly apart from them when his presence in that place ensured it drew them all more tightly together.

That was something else Bran had not understood. The Mighty One was the hero of destiny, true, but he was not alone in that destiny. By his own choice, he had drawn Norman and Virgil into his wake, and they three were linked now beyond any prophecy or foretelling from ancient Lemuria. What Bran had wanted to separate, Max himself had sought and nurtured and grown.

Even if they did ever welcome Bran to the Mighty One's side, Virgil knew Bran could never take Norman's place. Which was, Virgil considered, probably what the Mighty One had known all along, and was the reason for his grief and indecision. Max had feared to make the wrong choice, but the consequences of losing Norman had been daunting in a way usually reserved for the fate of the world.

Virgil broke out of his musings, not quite sure what the Mighty One and Norman had discussed in the meantime but absolutely certain it was about him and was intended to irritate, and pushed to his feet. "Shall we go in? I can begin breakfast and then we can see about the rest of our day."

Max nodded and put the Cap back onto his head, no uncertainty or hesitation in the motion. "Sure. But you're both still making the appointments. I'm not kidding."

Norman grunted.

Virgil looked up at him as they retrieved their bags and headed for the back door. "If I must be poked and prodded by a _veterinarian_ , you can stand an hour with Doctor Venkman."

"He better have a car waiting for me."

Max patted Norman's arm. "I'm sure Ray can scrounge up something. Hey, speaking of scrounging, think mom's got enough eggs for omelettes?"

Virgil calculated probabilities in his head, then nodded. "As long as Norman doesn't attempt to put anything inedible in them. Again."

Norman glared. "Sardines and caramel sauce _are_ edible."

"Not together, big guy," Max said. "And this is why Virgil's the one cooking and you can help me put our gear away before mom gets up and has a fit about us leaving it all over the kitchen for the eighth time."

"Tenth," Virgil corrected.

Max unlocked the door and grinned, returning home with the same bounce in his steps he had left with.

Things had changed – things always changed – but the most important things were the same as always.

-==OOO==-

Fifteen hours later, Max found himself alone in his mother's study. His mom was working on something upstairs which had sounded so boring it drove Max from the room at once; archeology was _not_ always exciting, apparently. Norman was ostensibly taking a nap, but Max thought he was probably thinking up more reasons he shouldn't have to go see Peter Venkman in two days when the Ghostbuster had a free afternoon. Virgil was sulking after his trip to the vet, which, because it was Sunday, meant he had been subjected to a different receptionist who had been...rather surprised.

Max had _tried_ not to giggle at the young man ogling Virgil like a side-show freak, but he had failed _miserably_ and Virgil had subsequently huffed all the way home.

_So much can change in two days_ , Max thought. _Two days ago, I didn't have a second Guardian. Two days ago, I didn't know Bran._

_Two days ago, I hadn't had to kick Bran into the Ural Mountains for his own good._

Max wasn't concerned about Bran's safety, even though he had effectively dumped the guy with nothing more than the clothes on his back into the wilderness thousands of miles away from his gear. Bran was a survivor, like Norman. He was sure Bran wasn't happy, but he knew without guessing that he was still alive. He could feel it, a tendril of something between them.

A chain that burned them both.

Max turned to the shelves with a heavy heart, tracking through his mom's completely irrational organizational system until he found what he needed. Max pulled down a book and opened it on the table to the alphabet in Morse Code. He cast around for something and spied a pushpin stuck into the bookshelf.

The first stick of the pin into the skin on the back of his arm drew a single bead of blood. Max hoped it would be enough.

One long press with the pin, followed by three short ones: _B_.

Short, long, short: _R_.

Short, long: _A_.

Long, short: _N_.

It took him two minutes to spell out his message delivered the one way he knew Bran could not ignore.

_I am sorry. Stay away._

Max paused and regarded the reddened skin – it hadn't bled after the first, but it was very annoyed; his arm looked like he'd tried hugging a cactus.

He wanted to send more. He wanted to tell Bran that he was going to try to find a way to break whatever it was that linked them so Bran would not have to feel his pain anymore. He wanted to tell Bran that he and Norman and Virgil would try to figure out how to better contain Locknarr so the evil spirit of violence couldn't keep influencing Bran. He wanted to tell Bran that he had faith that it was Locknarr's fault Bran had done what he did, and he forgave him.

But he set the pin down instead.

"I'll tell you the next time I see you," he decided. "Hopefully, by then, we'll have gotten this figured out."

Max rose and put the book away, returning the pushpin to its place. As he did, his eyes fell on a piece of stone perched on a higher shelf. Max didn't need to take it down to know what it was.

The statue in which he had received the Cosmic Cap had been broken – twice.

But the second time he had kept a bunch of its pieces. Virgil's head looked down on him from the shelf with all the different versions of various world atlases his mother had been collecting ever since he started on his globe-trotting adventures.

Max held the stone fowl's gaze for a moment before he turned. "Hey! Virg! Wanna get some ice cream?"

Norman popped up from nowhere, sticking his head into the room. "I eat ice cream for breakfast."

Max grinned. "How about dinner?"

"Even better."

Virgil shuffled into view from behind the Guardian. He still wore a few bandages, though if the afternoon's visit to Doctor Craven had been any indicator, he would 'accidentally' lose them within a day; apparently the dressings made his feathers stick together and they were itchy.

"Normally I would remind you about the necessity of a healthy and balanced diet to ensure optimal strength and endurance." Then Virgil's beak quirked in a smile. "But today, I believe we shall make an exception."

"Now you're talking! Come on – let's go save the world from being overrun by double cookie dough supreme sundaes!"

Max knew it was forced and he knew Norman and Virgil thought that he was trying too hard. But they let him pretend that everything was normal and he let them pretend they didn't walk just a little closer to him than usual.

As they ducked out the front door – Max hoping he was slipping his mom's notice and Virgil and Norman aware that they weren't but she was letting them go anyway – Max looked up into the setting sun. The horizon was bright with orange and yellow and pink and red, and it reminded him so much of the Firebird who had saved the day.

"I'm sorry she couldn't fix you," he said to Virgil as they started down the steps. "The Firebird, I mean."

Virgil waved a hand. "It doesn't matter, Mighty One. She healed you, and she did prevent me from developing an epidural hematoma, which I very much appreciate. But the fact of the matter is that most spirits cannot affect me as they do you thanks to my genetic legacy."

Max blinked. "Does that mean...the Lemurians originally came from the same place as other spirits?"

Virgil's eyebrows rose. "That is a very astute observation, Mighty One. It's not quite correct, but to clarify would be a very long story indeed, so I shall spare you for now."

"Fair enough. Though I do want to hear about it someday."

Norman looked at him. "About Lemuria?"

"Yeah." Max hopped over a crack in the sidewalk. "It's...you know. Kinda central to all this stuff." He gestured to the Cap.

"Hmm." Virgil was quiet, thinking, until they crossed the next street. "I shall tell you the full story someday, Mighty One, but I ask you to wait until the time comes."

"How come? More secret stuff?" And Max knew he would have a right to be annoyed, but he wasn't. If Virgil did keep secrets, he had to believe there was a good reason.

"No, just...some information may be...painful."

Max nodded and let it slide. They covered another block of walking before he spoke up again.

"Anyway, it's kinda inconvenient that the Firebird couldn't fix you. I guess that means White Blaze can't, either?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Hmm." Max glanced up at the Cap. "Too bad this thing can't do that. It'd sure be useful. With all the scrapes we get into, having a magical healing Cap would be nice."

"Unfortunately, you shall have to depend upon the healing power of something else for such," Virgil told him.

Norman perked up. "The healing power of ice cream?"

"Hey, anything with 'the healing power of' in front of it has to be good, right?" Max winked. "The healing power of video games?"

Norman grinned. "The healing power of bashing heads?"

Virgil sighed. "The healing power of putting up with the two of you."

After a moment, Max nodded. "Yeah. That one for sure. The healing power of destiny."

Norman put a hand on Max's shoulder. "The healing power of being your Guardian."

"Your _only_ Guardian," Virgil said.

"Definitely." Max smiled up at Norman before he turned back to Virgil with a wicked glint in his eye. "What does that make you? My chicken butler? Is there any healing power in that?"

Virgil immediately flapped his arms and squawked in outrage. "How dare you? A chicken butler? _Really_ , Mighty One!"

Max laughed and Norman laughed with him – and Virgil laughed too as long as the two of them pretended not to notice – all the way to the ice cream parlor.


End file.
